NCIS
by Beregond5
Summary: AU. Vance adds a new member in the team. The team, though wary, attempt to at least be professional about it. NCIS Ensemble, OC character.
1. New Blood

Though summer was long gone and autumn had painted the world in its brown and red colours, the particular morning was bright and even quite warm. 26-year-old Samuel Perkins didn't even need to wear a jacket as he went down the stairs of his home and then straight to the kitchen, his step brisk and light. He was in particularly high spirits, after all, and he didn't even bother to hide it as he greeted his mother with a big grin on his face.

"Good morning!" A light peck on her cheek later, he had grabbed a seat and settled down.

"And good morning to you too," Sheila Perkins said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Who are you, and what did you do with my Sam?"

Sam grinned. "What can I say? It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing…"

"Mhmm," she said, amused. "And her name is…?"

Sam had the courtesy to blush. "Next thing I know, I'll have a light shining straight into my eyes," he muttered.

She smiled sweetly. "No worries, I only reserve that for the _very_ bad people," she said, straightening her uniform. "In this case, I'll just bribe you with your favourite." And, true to her word, she produced a mouth-watering, scrumptious-looking French toast.

Sam regarded it for a few seconds, acting as if he was considering the situation; but then took the plate with a grin. "Her name's Audrey."

"Nice name," the navy lawyer commented with a smile. In the next moment, her watch beeped, making her check the time with a sigh. "Well, as much as I'd like to stay and learn all the dirty details, duty calls." She looked up at him. "You need a ride anywhere?"

"No, Jimmy will come and pick me up."

"Okay, but he'd better not be late like last time," the woman said, heading towards her room.

"He won't!" Sam called after her. In the next moment, as if right on cue, he felt his mobile vibrating in his pocket, so he dug it out to screen the number. Smiling, he ate his toast in a few big mouthfuls and then walked out in order to greet his friend.

Perkins opened the door to her room, her eyes already scanning for her briefcase. She was working on an important case and she preferred not to be late…

Ah, there it was, on the chair next to the window. She strode across the room and reached for it, only to stop in his tracks at the next moment. For it was then that she caught sight of what was happening outside the window. A blue-green car – Jimmy's car, if her memory served her right - was parked just a couple of feet away. Sam was outside as well, but he wasn't greeted by the familiar face of his friend. Instead, another man lunged out of the vehicle and grabbed Sam violently, forcing him inside the car.

"SAM!" the woman exclaimed, and she rushed downstairs, hoping to reach him in time. By the time she was outside, though, the car had already driven off, its chassis shining in the distance.

"Oh my god…" was all she could say before she mustered her wits and dug out her phone. "H-Hello? I'm at 200 Delaware Avenue NW; I want to report a kidnapping! It's my son!"

* * *

"You're kidding," Tony said, regarding both Ziva and Tim from his comfortable spot of his desk.

"That's your department, Tony," the woman replied, not bothering to look up from her computer screen.

Tony frowned once more. "So it's official?"

It was Tim that looked up this time, a frown of curiosity on his features. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"There was a memo, too?"

"Yes," Ziva and Tim replied at once.

"I didn't get one."

"Maybe if you looked under all that pile of papers you've buried yourself in?" Ziva suggested.

"I'm telling you, I didn't get any. If I had, I would have opened my drawer and put it in there, like…" he paused, the very memo in question gracing the top of the extra pile of papers inside. "…this one."

Ziva and Tim simply shook their heads, familiar with Tony's antics by now, and they continued typing.

"Okay… so what's their name?" Tony asked, closing the drawer without bothering to take out the memo and read it.

Timothy looked at his own memo. "Nathan Hudson. According to the director, he's to accompany us in several investigations as part of his training programme."

Tony cocked his head. "Now that's something that hasn't happened before."

"Vance made sure it happened. Direct order."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "And how did Gibbs take it?"

"Black, no sugar; I thought you'd know it by now, DiNozzo," Gibbs' voice sounded in that very moment as the man walked in, tossing a file on Tony's desk. "A Samuel Perkins was kidnapped from his home earlier this morning. His mother, naval lawyer Sheila Perkins, witnessed the whole thing. We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Uh… Boss, shouldn't we wait for the trainee…?" Tim ventured.

Gibbs' 'did I say we're going to talk about it?' look was enough as an answer, and Tim swallowed hard.

"…10 minutes it is."

* * *

It didn't take them long to reach Latour Avenue and the Perkins' house. The woman herself was already waiting for them, accompanied by another man in his late 70s – her uncle, as she said. So, as Tim started taking pictures of the crime scene and Tony tagged everything that might catch Abby's interest, Gibbs and Ziva headed outside to take Sheila Perkins' statement.

"Ms Perkins, you said you were upstairs when it happened?" Gibbs asked, keeping his eyes locked on the lawyer.

"Yes," Sheila replied. She was keeping her tone steady, but it was obvious she barely held it together – she was wringing her hands in a nervous manner. "I went to my room to get my briefcase and I saw everything from the window."

"Did you manage to take a good look at the kidnapper?"

"No... It all happened too fast," she murmured, but then her eyes widened slightly. "What I _can_ tell you is that there were two of them. The one who grabbed Sam came out from the back seat. There must have been a driver too."

Gibbs nodded silently. "You said that the car belonged to a James Lawson."

"I did," she replied. "…But… it couldn't have been Jimmy driving; he and Sam were best friends since childhood!"

"Officers, please. My niece has been through enough for the day," Thomas Perkins said in that moment, placing his hands on his niece's shoulders to soothe her. "The more we talk, the less chances we have getting Sam back."

"We're doing everything we can," Ziva said in a placating manner.

Gibbs, however, preferred to talk business. "Have the kidnappers tried to contact you yet?"

Sheila shook her head.

"We'll need to set up our equipment," Gibbs said, standing up.

"Okay," she said softly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just leave it to us," Ziva said. As for Gibbs himself, he walked up to the window and located Tim, still taking pictures.

"McGee! Bring in the equipment!"

"On it, Boss!" Tim replied, already turning on his heel. What he didn't expect to see in the next moment, however, was a dark-haired man in civilian – no older than Tim's age - wandering in the crime scene. The man's gaze kept drifting in every direction to take in everything with a calm, albeit curious look in his eyes.

Tim sighed wryly. As if they needed this…

"Sir, this is a crime scene. I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

"Actually, that's what I'm here for," the man said, smiling politely. "I was told I would find the NCIS team under the command of Jethro Gibbs here? I'm here for my training course."

Tim blinked. "Umm… Nathan Hudson?"

"That would be me," Hudson said, holding a hand in Tim's direction. "I take it you're in the team I'm assigned to?"

"Actually, yes," Tim replied, completing the handshake. "I'm Timothy McGee, this is Tony DiNozzo…"

Tony didn't bother looking up. He simply waved a hand, preferring to focus on picking up the cigarette butt that he had just spotted.

"Ziva David and the boss are still inside with the mother…" Tim stopped, realizing something important. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Yes, Director Vance informed me when I arrived at the office."

Tim blushed in mild embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's just that in such cases you have to act quickly and we couldn't-"

"McGee! Equipment!" Gibbs barked in that very moment.

Tim winced. "On it, Boss!" he cried before looking at Hudson in apologetic manner. "Sorry, I have work to do."

"No problem," Hudson said. "I could even help you if you like."

Tim blinked at the offer… but he certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Sure. Come along."

Hudson smiled politely once more, and he followed Tim to the small van.

* * *

Once they had carried everything to the living room, they set down to work. It was true that Tim was worried for a moment that he'd have to guide Hudson through everything, but, fortunately, the trainee seemed to know his way around the equipment. In less than ten minutes, everything was installed properly.

"Shall we test it?" Hudson asked as he finally stood up.

"Yup," Tim said, sitting down. Even as he typed though, he couldn't help but notice Hudson massaging his neck with a slight wince. It didn't take a great mind to guess that the muscles had been strained as the man had bent over cable after cable for such a long stretch of time. "It should be okay in a few minutes or so."

"I hope so or I'll be in trouble," Hudson said in a mildly wry tone.

"Is it working, McGee?" Gibbs asked, his impatience more than just a little audible.

Tim remembered himself and he looked at the readings on the screen. "Yes, Boss."

"So you roam the lands of techdom like McGee here, probie?" Tony asked then, watching the trainee with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm familiar with basic stuff; I'm by no means an expert, sir," Hudson replied, shrugging slightly.

Tony pondered on the answer, the look on his face indicating that he had accepted it as good enough. Tim, however, had worked with Tony long enough to realize that there was also a mischievous glint in the senior agent's eyes. Unless he was sorely mistaken – which he wasn't, not by a long shot - Hudson was about to be welcomed to the team the same way Tim himself had been: being hazed.

"Well, the job I have for you will be bit more challenging, but I think you have what it takes," Tony said, acting innocent.

"Sure, what do you need, sir?" Hudson asked.

"Got paper and pen?"

"Yes, sir," Hudson replied, taking out a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket.

"Right. Black, one sugar and make sure it's not any of that instant stuff," Tony said, smirking. "Got it?"

Hudson's eagerness ebbed, replaced with a wry look that clearly said 'I should have seen that coming a mile away'. Nevertheless, he nodded and wrote everything down. "Got it, sir."

"McGee, what about you?" Tony asked, unfazed.

"Um… I'm fine," Tim replied, wincing inwardly that he had to be dragged into this.

"Ziva?"

The woman shook her head. "No, thank you."

"Be right back then, sir," Hudson said with a calm smile, and he walked outside. Only then did Ziva approach Tony and stood next to him, her arms crossed.

"That's not the way you drink coffee."

Tony smirked. "He doesn't know that."

Gibbs slapped the back of Tony's head and then turned to Ziva. "Go get him back."

Ziva knew better than to argue with Gibbs and, besides, she believed Hudson had deserved a fair warning about his co-workers before Tony took out his guns, so to speak. When she went outside to call him back, however, she was surprised to see that the man not only had already crossed the road, but he was even talking to the waitress, a friendly smile on his lips.

_Just what we needed; a second Tony,_ she thought with a long-suffering sigh, and she quickly crossed the road in order to retrieve him. He must have spotted her through the corner of his eye, though, for he instantly looked in her direction, seeming surprised.

"Did you change your mind?" he asked.

"No, Gibbs made sure Tony changed his," she replied. "Come on."

"Actually," Hudson said, putting his notebook back in his pocket, "Do you mind if I show you something, Agent David?"

Ziva raised an eyebrow at that; nevertheless she decided to indulge him. "What is it?"

"Ms Evans," the man said, introducing the smiling waitress, "told me that there was a man sitting at this particular table here," at that, he pointed at a table close to the large window. "He seemed to be very interested in what was going on outside."

Ziva frowned gently as a suspicion started forming in her mind and she went inside the café, Ms Evans and Hudson following close behind. Her eyes never left the window as she sat down and, sure enough, she could see the Perkins' house as plain as day.

"Any idea how long he had been waiting here?" she asked.

"A couple of hours, maybe; I didn't really check the time," the waitress replied. "But I'm pretty sure he left after he talked to someone on his phone."

"Did you hear what he said?" Ziva asked.

"No, sorry," Ms Evans replied with a sheepish smile.

Ziva smiled reassuringly. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You can give a description to Agent Hudson so we can keep a lookout for him."

"Sure," she said with a nod. "Let me talk to my boss and tell him to cover for me."

"Of course," Ziva said. The waitress had hardly taken a couple of steps though when an idea formed in her mind.

"Actually… could you make me some coffee while at it?" she asked, rubbing her hands in glee inwardly.

* * *

Tim watched Sheila Perkins pace up and down the room, worry written all over her features. He wished he was able to say something in order to comfort her, but, for one thing, he doubted there was much he could say and, two, that wasn't why he was here. All he had to do was wait for that phone-call and get ready to trace it.

"Shouldn't they have called by now?" she finally asked Gibbs.

"There's no time limit to these things," Gibbs said calmly. "They'll call when they are ready."

"Samuel could be dead by then!" she exclaimed.

"If that happens, then we'll make sure they're brought in," Gibbs answered.

The woman opened her mouth to voice her further objections, but the sound of the door opening made her turn around. Tim couldn't help but wince as he saw her hope changing to disappointment as Ziva and Hudson walk in, however.

"Glad you could join us once again," Gibbs said, addressing Hudson, and then he faced Tony. "DiNozzo, take Ziva and head to Lawson's house; see what you can find there."

"On it, Boss," Tony replied, and then frowned as Ziva held up a cup of coffee for him. "What did you put in it?"

"Nothing," she replied innocently. "It's exactly as it should be."

Tony pursed his lips warily; nevertheless he decided to take a sip.

"…for a Turkish coffee," she added.

Tony instantly grimaced as the bitter dregs hit the back of his throat full force, but she simply grinned.

"Enjoy," she declared, patting his back, and she walked out.

Tim was glad for the large computer screen, especially since he could hide behind it and grin.

"Does this thing happen a lot?"

Tim sobered and cleared his throat in a heartbeat before facing Hudson; the trainee had settled next to him, a frown of curiosity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry… What?" he asked.

"This thing between Agent DiNozzo and Agent David… does it happen a lot?" Hudson elaborated patiently.

Tim pondered on his answer, but finally deemed honesty was the best policy. "_All_ the time."

Hudson seemed surprised at that. "And they haven't killed each other yet?"

"Nope."

"…Heh."

"Hudson, got something for me?" Gibbs said in that moment, his eyes boring down on the trainee.

Hudson instantly stood up. "Actually, yes, sir, I…"

Tim winced in sympathy, knowing what was coming next.

"This is the first and the last time I'll say this, Hudson. You don't call me 'Sir'. You call me 'Boss'," Gibbs said in his no-nonsense tone.

Hudson mouthed a subtle 'oh'. "Yes, s…Boss. As I was saying, a waitress from the café told me about a suspicious-looking man; he gave her the impression he was spying on the Perkins' house shortly before the kidnapping."

Gibbs looked at him intently.

"And… she gave me a basic description. Male, Caucasian, mid-thirties, black glasses, casual clothing consisting of a red jacket and black trousers."

"That's not much to go on."

"She didn't get that good a look at him. Still, I took the liberty of asking her to come by the office. She can give a criminal sketch artist a more detailed description there."

"Are they waiting for her?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, I've already sent a message ahead."

Gibbs took in the piece of information and then turned to Tim. "McGee, have you collected everything from the crime scene?"

"Yes, Boss," Tim replied.

Gibbs nodded again. "Hudson, you take McGee's place in surveillance. McGee, go to Abby and see what she'll find."

"On it, Boss," Tim said, standing up.

"Yes, Sir."

Gibbs glared at Hudson. The trainee, on the other hand, looked like he was about to kick himself.

"Boss," he corrected, sitting down.

Gibbs nodded, considering the matter closed, and then headed out of the living room.

* * *

"I can't believe you tried to feed me that stuff," Tony mourned. He wasn't facing Ziva, but he was certain that the woman was sporting one of the finest examples of a Cheshire-cat grin to grace the face of the earth.

Her grin simply grew broader as she sat in a relaxed manner in the passenger's seat, facing him. "And here I was, thinking I was opening your mind to new experiences."

Tony didn't bother for any other retort. He just stretched his hands in her direction. "Just give me the water." Anything to get rid of that awful after-taste…

She obliged him, thankfully, and he took a good swing from the bottled water. Just then, his eyes caught sight of a small house, its grey and worn form hardly impressionable. "Is that Lawson's place?"

"Must be," Ziva replied.

Tony nodded and parked the car. When he saw Ziva pulling out her gun though, he instantly lifted a finger, as if he were a teacher scolding a small naughty child.

"Ah ah ah… First we ask questions; then we shoot."

"Not that it ever works that way with us," the woman pointed out dryly. Still, she complied and put the gun back inside her jacket.

"Good girl," Tony grinned, and the two of them walked up to the doorstep. He knocked on the door once, only to see that there was no need for such formalities; the door was already open.

"Tony," Ziva said, nodding to the lock.

Tony looked down and he saw the same thing: the lock had been tampered with and quite roughly at that. He exchanged a look with Ziva, the same thought crossing their minds, and they took out their guns. Tony used his foot to open the door further and took a good look inside.

Nothing. The place seemed, in fact, quiet.

"Go," he said.

Ziva nodded and stepped inside, ready to shoot if she had to. She walked slowly with Tony close to her heels, both of them as alert as they could be. Even if it weren't for the bloody boot-prints on the wooden floor, they were both sure they were about to get themselves a nasty surprise.

The surprise was indeed waiting for them in the living-room, where a young man in his twenties was sprawled on the floor, his mouth parted slightly and his eyes in a lifeless gaze. The carpet was soaked in the man's blood and brain matter; the obvious result of a bullet going right through his skull.

Tony pursed his lips. It looked like they could scratch off James Lawson off their list of suspects…

* * *

The first thing that Tony did after informing Gibbs about the new development was to call Ducky and let him know that his expertise would be needed in the scene of the crime. And so, about an hour later, the silent, macabre room was bustling with life once more, filled with agents that gathered as much evidence as possible. Dr. Mallard and Palmer hardly noticed them, however, as their focus of interest still lying on the floor.

"You never thought this would have happened when you woke up this morning, did you?" Ducky mused, still examining the dead body. "Mr. Palmer, please take photos of the bruising in our friend's hands here."

"Of course, Dr. Mallard," Palmer replied, taking out his camera.

"So, what have we got, Doc?" Tony asked, walking up to the two doctors.

"I think the cause of death is pretty obvious," Ducky said, pointing at the destroyed skull. "He put up a good fight, but the poor fellow didn't stand a chance. Being shot at point-blank range tends to put all good fights to an end with quite the finality, I'm afraid."

"Any idea how long he's been dead?"

"Four, perhaps five hours. I will know more after I examine him further."

Tony caught Ziva coming into the room from the corner of his eye, and with a brief 'Thanks, doc,' in the good doctor's direction, he went up to her. "Any luck?"

"The only thing missing is his cell phone," she said. "We can safely assume that they took it to call Samuel Perkins."

Tony nodded. "They rang; he checked the number; he didn't suspect foul play, and then he was out, ready for the take. These guys knew what they were doing."

"And still managed to do some greasy mistakes," Ziva said, looking around. "They smashed the lock," she pointed to the door, "they didn't pick up the bullet," she held it up, proving her point, "and someone actually stepped on the blood, making even more mess," with that, she pointed at the bootprints. "Whoever's behind it, they're not professional, though they try to look like it."

"Yeah, I guess you'd know a thing or two about that, wouldn't you?" Tony said wryly, and he picked up his phone. "And, by the way…" he added as he dialed the number. "…It's _gross_ mistakes."

Ziva simply rolled her eyes and placed the bullet in a plastic bag. Abby would be interested in it…

* * *

Gibbs paced the living room, trying not to think of Sheila Perkins' eyes locked on him as he still talked on the phone. Under the circumstances, he couldn't really blame the woman for trying to grasp any piece of information she could concerning her son.

"Got it, DiNozzo. Send your findings to Abby and I'll find you at the office. And tell Ziva to come back to the Perkins' place. Hudson will need backup," he finally instructed, and then hung up.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Perkins said, looking up at the man in concern. "What did they find?"

Gibbs pursed his lips. "You were right about James Lawson. Unfortunately, he's dead. They killed him to get access on his cell phone."

"Oh, my God…" Sheila breathed out. "Does that mean Sam could be dead too?"

"We'll know when the kidnappers call."

"Don't you mean 'if'?" she said shakily.

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get the chance to answer. The shrill ringing of the phone cut through the house like a knife, making the woman jump. Thankfully, Thomas Perkins appeared in that moment, placing a hand on her shoulder and steadying her.

"Hudson?" Gibbs said. He hoped that the 'probie' knew more than just installing the equipment.

"On it," Hudson replied and started typing. He worked with experienced ease, without letting the ringing distract him.

"Shouldn't I answer?" the woman demanded.

Gibbs didn't reply at once, watching Hudson intently. It was only when the trainee gave him the 'thumbs up' that he faced Sheila Perkins once more, his eyes shining with determination.

"Talk calmly, keep him busy, and ask for proof that your son is alive."

Sheila nodded, swallowing hard, and then she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Once she steadied herself, she walked up to the phone and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Perkins?"

"Speaking."

Gibbs signaled at Hudson to hand him the headphones, intending to listen in on the conversation. Hudson nodded and complied, even as his eyes remained practically glued on the screen, watching the recording and the tracking progressing slowly, but steadily.

"We have your son. We know you have the police holding your hand. Trust me, they won't help you. The only thing that can save your son is if you do what we say. Is that clear?"

"Yes…"

Gibbs' eyes narrowed as the seconds ticked by and yet there was no definite location on the screen yet.

"Please… Can I speak to him?"

"You're in no position to make demands, Mrs. Perkins."

"I need to know he's alive!"

She was losing it. Nevertheless, Gibbs waited patiently, hoping that they would get their answer.

There were voices in the background, and then a young man's voice, clearly in pain, sounded from the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Sam?!"

"Mom!"

"Sam, where are you?!"

She never got her answer. The sound of people struggling echoed in the next moment; and then there was the kidnapper's voice once more.

"You've got your proof. 300,000 dollars in 24 hours, and then 300,000 more in the next 48. We'll keep in touch."

"But how will I…?" Mrs. Perkins started.

The beeping sound of the line being disconnected was her only answer and all she could do was fall back on the couch, her face etched with lines of anguish.

"Hudson?"

Hudson, however, shook his head. "Somewhere on the Southeast side. Nothing more."

_Damn it…_ "Make a copy of the recording."

"Yes, sir… Boss."

Gibbs huffed mentally; nevertheless he decided not to say anything this time. He preferred to wait for the recording so that he'd pay a visit to Abby himself.

* * *

Abby hardly paid attention to her surroundings as she typed away, her eyes never looking away from the computer screen. As far as she was concerned, she was in her perfect little world, her kingdom, where she had everything under her command and everything worked like clockwork. And, boy, did she love it when everything worked like clockwork.

She held up the cigarette butt with the tweezers, wrinkling her nose in disgust, and then she placed it in the Petri-dish. How could one insist on such a nasty habit was beyond her, but at least it would serve its purpose now. Well, once she took the necessary precautions, that is. With that, she picked up a mask and placed it over her mouth and nose.

"Should I be worried?" McGee asked, walking in and seeing her as if ready to handle chemicals from some kind of biological warfare.

"You should if you knew that 600,000 people die of passive smoking per year," she said.

McGee blinked, looking at the cigarette butt. "It's not even lighted."

"Do you feel lucky?"

McGee pondered on that for a few moments and then took a step back. She gave him a look that clearly said, 'My point exactly', and then she continued on with her work. "Thankfully, smoking is going to end up being bad for him too, especially since I've managed to recover enough DNA sample to cross-reference it with FBI criminal records."

"Any luck with the car tyres?" McGee asked.

"Other than one of the tyres has run smooth and it's for the junkyard? No," she replied, still typing away. "Although…" With that, she held up another Petri-dish. "I found some elements of red soil in the sample you've brought me. It's not much, but I just might be able to get some clues about it if I have some kind of geological map."

"I can download one for you now."

"Thanks, McGee, you're a saint," she said, grinning.

Tim smiled at that, and he started typing on the computer nearby. What he didn't expect was to see Abby sitting up, her nostrils twitching.

"Is that Caf-pow that I'm smelling?"

Tim looked up, unsure what to make of that statement. That is, until the door opened and Gibbs walked in, a large paper cup of Caf-pow in his hand.

"Gibbs!" she cried happily. "Tell me that's for me!"

"If you have something just as good in exchange," Gibbs replied.

"Okay, allow me to bedazzle you then, because I'm currently running my tests on the cigarette butt and…" Just then, the screen flashed to life, showing a photo and the criminal file in question. "…We have a winner!" she hurried to the computer screen. "Craig Sawyer, aged 38, spent a year in prison for petty theft, walked out three months ago. He had also been suspected for a number of bank-robberies, but there was never enough evidence to nail him to them."

"Sounds like our guy," Tim said as he looked up at the screen in thought.

"McGee, find out his current location. Abby," with that, he held up the disc, "Analyse anything you can hear on the background."

"Got it!" she grinned, taking it from Gibbs' hands. Still, she couldn't help but keep her eyes on the Caf-pow, resembling a small cute puppy waiting for its treat.

Gibbs regarded her for a few moments, pretending to think about it… and then he handed the Caf-pow.

"Thanks, Gibbs!" she grinned.

Gibbs smiled, but as his eyes caught sight of the cigarette, another thought occurred to him. Frowning, he approached the Petri-dish, looking at it closely.

"Gibbs?" Abby said, cocking her head.

"Boss?"

Gibbs didn't answer. He simply dug out his phone and dialed Ziva's number.

* * *

Tony and Ziva had just helped Ducky load the body in the van when her phone rang, seemingly out of the blue. The woman dug out her the cell phone to screen the number and then answered it as when she realized it was Gibbs.

"Boss?" she said .

"Ziva, when you talked to Hudson, did he tell you if the waitress had seen the suspect before?"

She frowned gently. "No, he didn't."

"Is he with you?"

"We're still at Lawson's place."

"Have you got his number?"

"No..." The man had been in their team for 5 hours and they had barely time to exchange pleasantries or other talk, let alone phone-numbers.

"… Fine. Take DiNozzo and go back to the Perkins' place as fast as you can. You will be needed there."

"Gibbs, what's going on?"

"I'll tell you when my theory checks out." And with that, Gibbs hung up.

* * *

"Boss?" Tim said, more than just a little confused.

Gibbs faced him, his face business-like. "Do you have the Perkins' phone number?"

Tim blinked. "I can look it up…"

Gibbs' gave him one of his 'then why are we still talking?' looks, so Tim simply nodded his compliance before walking up to the computer and typing.

* * *

Nathan checked out his surroundings, unsure what to do. He had been alone in the room for quite some time, drumming his fingers on the surface of the desk in an unconscious wish to break the silence that had reigned throughout. If he had something to do, than perhaps this waiting wouldn't have been so tedious, but, on the other hand, he didn't have that much choice in the matter. They all had their responsibilities and, for now, this was his.

Then again, his responsibilities didn't involve his butt going to sleep from sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end. Deciding that stretching his legs for ten minutes wouldn't hurt anybody, he stood up and started pacing the room. His gaze drifted to the photos over the mantelpiece and shelves, taking in more details now that he had his chance to examine things further. There weren't that many of them, and in most of them it was just the mother and the son. Even so, he could tell they were very happy; their smiles were so broad…

A sob reached his ears and he looked up. Unless he was sorely mistaken, the sound had come from the other room.

A second sob ebbed all doubts in his mind, and headed towards the other room – the kitchen, if his memory served him right. He opened the door slowly, silently, and he wasn't surprised to see Sheila Perkins by the counter. She had her back to him and her head was bowed; but it still didn't take a great mind to see that she was crying.

_Hmm…_ Before he even realized what he was doing, he knocked on the door gently to signify his presence; the last thing he wanted was to startle her.

She turned on her heel, eyes wide. "Oh… Agent… Hudson, isn't it? Is there any news?"

"Not yet," Nathan said with a shake of his head.

She lowered her gaze, disappointment written all over her features. "Is there something you needed then?"

"Some tea would be nice, but… only if you join me and you let me make it?" he said, tugging his lips to a soft smile.

She regarded him for several minutes, before she finally rewarded him with a soft smile of her own. She realized that he had suggested tea for her benefit.

"It's in the cupboard on the left."

He nodded his understanding and he set himself to work. A few minutes later, he had also settled at the table, handing her one of the mugs with the tea.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome," he replied. He looked around, noticing that there was something missing from the picture. "I'm surprised that your uncle isn't here with you."

"He went upstairs to lie down for a while. All this waiting and stress has tired him out."

Nathan supposed that that made sense. He watched the woman as she sipped some of the tea. "I hope I prepared it to your liking."

"It's perfect, thank you," she replied with a small smile before sighing ruefully. "I hadn't realized I needed it till now."

"Understandable, under the circumstances."

She nodded, letting the warmth seep through her fingers as she held the mug tightly. "It's… strange. As a lawyer, I saw some pretty awful things. So many, in fact, that I thought there was nothing left that could faze me. But now…"

"He's your son, ma'am."

She smiled weakly, seeing his point. "Have you... handled many cases like this before?"

If only… "Would you believe me if I said this is my first day on the job?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Really? How old are you?"

"35, ma'am."

She regarded him curiously. "You must have done something else before that."

"Well… yes," Nathan replied. "I finished college at 23, bachelor's degree and everything, but after that I-"

The shrill sound of the phone rang through the air, making the woman jump. Nathan winced as he realized that he was on his own on this one, but, fortunately, he knew what to do. He stood up, his tea forgotten.

"I'll go to the equipment. Don't answer before I give you the okay," he said, speaking as calmly as possible.

"Okay…" she said, following him to the living room. Without wasting anymore time, Nathan was back on the chair in moments and, once he had made sure everything was in order, he gave her the thumbs up.

She didn't have to be told twice. She picked up the phone in one smooth motion. "Hello?" she said.

"Mrs. Perkins, this is Agent Gibbs. I need to speak to Agent Hudson."

Nathan blinked in surprise and exchanged a glance with Mrs. Perkins.

"Preferably now."

Oh right. Nathan stood up at once, practically dropping the headphones in the process, and he took the phone from Mrs. Perkins. "S…Boss?" he said.

"Hudson, you will answer with just a yes or no. Got it?"

... Okay, by that tone alone, things were more than just serious. "Yes."

"Had Ms Evans seen the suspect before today?"

Hudson frowned. "No."

There was a pause for a few moments. "Is Thomas Perkins in the house?"

Nathan's agent-senses tingled. "Yes."

Another pause. "Wait for Ziva and DiNozzo. They're already on their way there. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

The other line went dead, indicating that Gibbs had already hung up. And, right on cue, Thomas Perkins came down the stairs, a deep frown creasing his elderly features. And was it Nathan's impression, or did he even look… surprised?

"What's going on?" he said. "Was that the kidnappers?"

Okay, time to smooth things over… Smile, act almost embarrassed... "Sorry about that. It's my first day on the job and my boss didn't even have time to take down my cell-phone number. It was the only way to contact me."

The man looked at Nathan, probably wondering if he was serious or not. "And what did he want?"

"To inform me that he's sending someone to back me up."

"You mean to hold your hand," the man said in a gruff tone.

"Uncle!"

"No, he's right," Nathan said as charmingly as possible. _Keep smiling… David and DiNozzo are on their way…_ "It goes with being on probation. I mean, we're not even allowed to carry a gun at this stage. They probably think we'll shoot our eyes out." He chuckled at his own joke, wincing at how fake it sounded in his ears. "Again, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'll give my boss the number once this is over."

"You'd better," Mr. Perkins said, still staring at Nathan as if he were an idiot, and then addressed his niece. "I'm going outside for a cigarette."

_Damn it. _"Actually, sir, it would probably be best if you stayed in here," Nathan said.

"You give me and my niece here a scare because you're too scatterbrained to do your job right and now you tell me what to do? I don't think so. Get out of my way."

Nathan growled in his mind, deciding enough was enough. He stepped forward, blocking the elderly man's way. "No, sir. _I _don't think so."

"Agent Hudson?" the woman asked, confused.

Nathan didn't budge, his eyes still locked on the man in case he tried anything stupid. "Mrs. Perkins, we have reasons to believe your uncle knows more about the kidnapping than he lets on."

"What?" she exclaimed, and she stared at her uncle incredulously.

The man shook his head. "Are you really going to listen to this nonsense, Sheila?" he said. "Now, excuse me, I'm going out."

The doorbell rang in that very moment.

"Mrs. Perkins, please see who is at the door," Nathan said. It was time to get down to business.

The woman nodded hesitantly and then hurried to the door. To Nathan's secret relief, it was indeed the cavalry.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Perkins?" Tony said.

"Well, I…" Mr. Perkins started, his indignation gone in a flash.

"Save it," Ziva said, looking hard at him. "You'll say everything in time."

* * *

Though Thomas Perkins was alone in the interrogation room, he was by no means unattended. Ziva watched him like a hawk from the one-way mirror, unimpressed by the guilty and shameful look in the elderly man's eyes. He certainly hadn't felt guilty when he had orchestrated his nephew's kidnapping…

She looked around as the door opened, almost expecting Tony to be there. To her mild surprise, though, it was actually Hudson.

"May I come in?" he said.

"Of course," she replied politely, beckoning him inside.

Hudson nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Came to see the interrogation?"

"I figured I might as well," Hudson said with a slight shrug. "Who will go in?"

"Tony."

Hudson mouthed an 'ah' in understanding. "Does he always do the interrogations?"

"No, Gibbs handles most of them," she answered. "It depends on how tough is the walnut to crack."

Hudson pursed his lips, clearly pondering on something.

"What?"

"Um…" He cleared his throat. "It's nut. Tough _nut_ to crack. Sorry."

She frowned. If she didn't know any better, she'd think Hudson was afraid she was going to bite his head off. So why…?

It clicked at the next moment. Of course it had to be her Mossad background.

"I don't kill people just because they correct me," she pointed out, trying not to sound too indignant.

Hudson chuckled softly. "I should hope not," he said. "I just didn't want to sound like a wise-ass."

"Oh." In other times, she would have probably appreciated such manners; but, unfortunately, she was raised to be wary of it. One didn't know when a charming, polite smile hid something more behind it like an elaborate Noh mask. That… or she was too much used to Tony's brutal honesty.

Speaking of which, there was the man himself, walking into the interrogation room with the air of someone who ready to bring the truth out to the surface. Thomas Perkins looked up at him in a cautious manner, but Tony didn't seem to be bothered by the stare. He simply sat down in a relaxed manner and then held up a file for Mr. Perkins to see.

"Do you know what this is?" Tony said.

Mr. Perkins shook his head.

Tony, however, snorted. "I think you do. This is a record of your financial state and, honestly, even _I _can tell that this is bad." He tossed the file on the desk. "_Very_ bad. Bad enough to make you think 'Today is a good day to kidnap my nephew and ask for 600,000 in cash.' Because, naturally, you aren't a selfish person; you have to give something to the people that did the dirty work for you. 300,000 for you and 100,000 for them each? Sounds like a very sweet deal to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Tony made a noise like a buzzer. "Sorry, wrong answer. You see, we _know_ you orchestrated the whole thing. Your people only had to spy on your niece's house once and that was today. The other two didn't have to wait for Samuel outside all night or even an hour or two. They waited for him for exactly five minutes: long enough for them to have just one cigarette. They even had Jimmy Lawson's mobile phone and car, after _you_ sent them to that direction. Did you tell them to kill Jimmy too?"

Mr. Perkins' eyes widened tenfold. "What? No, I didn't!"

"But you admit telling them everything else, do you?"

Mr. Perkins swallowed hard and then his shoulders slumped forward in resignation. "I… I had no idea what they were going to…" he whispered.

Tony shook his head. "Now where have I heard that before? Oh yeah. Aaron Elkhart in Dark Knight said it best. 'What, _exactly_, did you think they were going to do?'" he said. "It's a good movie, by the way. I recommend it for those long hours you're going to spend in incarceration."

Mr. Perkins lowered his gaze. "What do you want from me?"

"Just one thing: Where are they keeping your nephew?"

Mr. Perkins sighed. "I don't know."

Tony snorted. "I'm not about to play the guessing game. Tell me where they are."

"I'm telling you, I don't know! They never said where they would take him!" Mr. Perkins cried, and then let out a tired sigh. "I _was_ desperate, I admit that. I couldn't face my niece and ask her for money. She had no idea how bad things were. And if she did, she'd just give me a look of sympathy and a couple of thousand 'for starters'."

"But you needed all the money now," Tony said in mock sympathy.

"…Yes. I'm not proud of it…"

"Nor should you be," Tony deadpanned.

"…But I didn't know what else to do. So, I found an old friend mine, he told me about Sawyer and... We made the deal. All they wanted was information about the boy and they'd take care of everything else."

"When were you to meet them next?"

"I wasn't," the uncle said. "They said they'd just leave a note with Sam's whereabouts written on it, and that would be that."

"Okay… do you know when they're going to call again, at least?"

"At night. They'll want to check if Sheila's gathered the money," Mr. Perkins murmured.

Tony pursed his lips, taking in the information, and then got back on his feet. He had barely made a couple of steps to the door when Mr. Perkins stopped him, however.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony faced the other man with a frown.

"Can you tell my niece how sorry I am?"

"… No. You brought it on yourself, Mr. Perkins." And with that he walked out, not bothering to look back.

That, Hudson and Ziva supposed, was their cue to exit the other room and find Tony.

"If he doesn't know where they keep him, there's no telling they are," the woman commented with a frown.

"Actually, there is," Abby said in that moment, walking up to them with Tim in tow. She cocked her head at the sight of Hudson before smiling in a friendly manner. "Hi, you must be the new guy."

Hudson smiled sheepishly. "For the next few weeks, yeah."

"So have you met Ducky yet?"

"No, can't say I have…"

Abby opened her mouth to reply, but Tony turned out to be faster.

"Abby? There was something else you wanted to say?"

"Oh, right! Sorry! As I was saying, I managed to find that there were high traces of salt in the soil sample."

"So they were close to water at least recently," Ziva concluded.

"And…" Tim said, just as excited as Abby, "Craig Sawyer had found a job as a dock-worker after discharged from prison. I've got the address right here."

"Sounds like we know where to start," Gibbs said, passing by them in determination; he had obviously overheard them. "Let's go."

Hudson blinked, watching the man in confusion, and then back at the others. "How did he…?" He looked back in Gibbs' direction once more. "We didn't even hear him coming!"

"That's the mystery about Gibbs," Abby said, waving her hands in a spooky manner before practically skipping away.

"Come on, probie," Tony said, prodding Hudson forward. "There's plenty of time for wonder later."

* * *

"Yeah, I know him. Not the brightest tool in the shed, but certainly the strongest," the director said, looking at Craig Sawyer's photo. He handed it back to Gibbs, a frown creasing his features. "So what's this all about?"

"Can you just call him?" Gibbs replied.

"Okay… sure. He's right there," the man said, pointing with his thumb behind him, where a team of workers were busy with one of the boats that needed maintenance. He looked over his shoulder. "Yo, Sawyer! Get over here!"

The burly man looked up, but he certainly didn't comply. He dropped his boards and sprinted away, as fast as his legs could carry him.

"DiNozzo, Ziva, take the left! McGee, with me," Gibbs cried, snapping into action. "Hudson… stay right here!"

Hudson's eyes widened. "But…!"

"I mean it. No heroics on your first day!" Gibbs said with finality, and they all hurried after the runaway. All Hudson could do was watch them go, only to sigh in defeat as they vanished out of view.

"So… First day on the job?" the director asked.

Hudson nodded with a, "Yup."

"Not exactly fun, is it?"

"Nope."

"So why do it?"

Hudson shrugged a bit. "I've had worse."

* * *

"I think the boss hurt the probe's feelings," Tony said as he still run next to Ziva, his gun in his hands.

"It's not like he could do much without a gun," she reasoned. At that moment, she caught sight of Sawyer's shadow; the man was still on the move. "Tony…!"

"I see him!" was all that the man said. Working expertly, they separated and used different routes in order to surprise Sawyer. Sure enough, just as the man tried to jump up a fire-escape, the two of them grabbed him and pinned him down on the ground. And though Sawyer was ready to put a good fight, Gibbs aiming his gun at him made him think otherwise.

"Just tell me what I need to know and I'll make sure your cell has sunshine this time, at least," he said.

* * *

"Yes, ma'am. I'm glad we could help," Hudson said, a gentle smile on his lips as he continued talking on the phone. "You too, ma'am. Bye-bye."

"I take it that was Sheila Perkins on the phone?" Tony said, regarding Hudson curiously.

"Yeah. She wanted to thank us once again for bringing Samuel back in one piece," the younger man said.

"Got to love happy endings," Tim commented from his own comfortable perch.

"Not that happy an ending for the uncle," Ziva pointed out. "Funny thing is, she would have given him the money if he had asked. He just wanted to believe that she wouldn't."

"Relations can be a pain like that," Tony said, looking meaningfully at Ziva before noticing Hudson standing up. "And where are you going?"

"Home," Hudson said with a shrug, picking up his backpack. "I completed my eight-hour course for today so I might as well punch out."

"So what did you think of your first day?" Ziva asked. "Was it everything you thought it would be?"

"Didn't get to kick my share of ass, but there's always next time," Hudson replied and he turned on his heel. "See you tomorrow."

The trio gave their own farewells, watching Hudson go and, once the elevator closed, Ziva turned to Tony; the man seemed very thoughtful for some reason.

"Something on your mind, Tony?"

Tony didn't reply at once. And when he did, his tone was almost ominous.

"He's hiding something."

Ziva raised an eyebrow. "If you're talking about the backpack over his shoulder, yes, he did swing it over his shoulder in a most evil way."

Tony, however, didn't bother with an answer. He simply started typing in his computer.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding some more about our 'friend'," Tony declared and then grinned. "Bingo."

"That was quick…" Tim commented.

"Probably because it wasn't meant to be hidden," Ziva pointed out, walking up to Tony's desk. "So what's the dark, mysterious secret you've uncovered?"

"Ah ah ah…" Tony said, closing the window. "You had your chance."

With that, the man walked away, seeming pleased with himself, and Ziva and Tim exchanged a glance.

"You don't… really think he found something… do you?" Tim asked.

"No," Ziva said at once.

"Yeah, me neither."

Silence reigned for a while and then...

"Race you to finding it?" Tim asked.

"Oh yeah."

* * *

The last thing that Hudson expected to see as the door of the elevator opened was a muffin being held in front of him. He blinked, and then looked over it to see… Abby, was it?... smiling at him.

"I figured you might want a housewarming welcome, so… here you go!"

Hudson looked back at the muffin, uncertain. He hadn't fooled himself that he would be welcomed with open arms in his new job – especially in a tightly-knit team as that – but he had certainly not expected this either. It was… well, sweet. He didn't remember the last time anyone had been so generous to him...

"Thanks," he said, taking the muffin.

"No problem. Welcome to NCIS!" she grinned, and then she went back into her lab, still as cheerful as he had met her.

Hudson regarded the muffin for many long moments, and then he finally had his first bite as he set off once more.

Mmm… blueberry…

* * *

Gibbs marched inside the Vance's office, not bothering with the fact that the man was on the phone. On the other hand, Vance himself didn't seem surprised to see Gibbs coming in, for he ended the conversation with a brief, "I'll talk to you later" and then hung up.

"Heard about the Perkins case. Congratulations on a job well done and without fuss for a change."

"Good word from you? I'm surprised," Gibbs said, sitting down.

"It goes with being pleased for a change. But I know you didn't come for that."

"Nathan Hudson. Who is he, and why did you put him in my team?"

Vance regarded Gibbs for many long moments, and then opened the drawer to take out a file.

"I figured he'd need a firm hand like yours."

Gibbs frowned and opened the file. There was the kid himself, in his service uniform… a familiar service uniform. And right underneath it… a full, unedited edition of a DD 214. A form that all marines acquired on the day of their discharge.

"Enjoy your reading," Vance said.

Gibbs wasn't sure about the 'enjoy' part if the first few sentences were any indication…

**THE END**

**A/n: This is more of an experiment of sorts. I wanted to see if I'd be able to write 26 individual stories in the form of 'episodes within a season'. I hope the results prove interesting, in spite of the OC's appearance.**


	2. Shots In The Night

With October well on its way, nights in Quantico had become increasingly colder and quieter. The only noise that could be heard were a few leaves that still clung stubbornly on the trees, rustling under a gentle, cool breeze. And things were particularly peaceful over the apartments of Sierra Ridge, where the main occupants were marines; military life meant retiring early in order to start early as well.

Yet the serenity was violently put to an end the moment that the thunderous clap of gunshots filled the air.

* * *

Even though Ziva had been in NCIS for quite a while now, Tony always seemed able to find new ways to surprise her. Today wasn't going to be an exception either by the look of things but, even so, she still couldn't understand why the man in question kept looking at the watch and then the elevator. And he didn't do it just once or twice, oh no. He was literally doing it every three minutes and it was becoming more than just a little distracting. She wanted to have some work done, thank you very much.

"You realize that it's not Christmas yet and Santa Claus isn't coming, I hope?" she said, once she caught him looking at his watch yet again.

"Forget Santa Claus, I'm waiting for someone else," Tony replied before his gaze drifted to the direction of the elevator. It still didn't open to reveal the newcomer he had been waiting for, though.

"The Easter Bunny, then?" Tim said, looking up from his computer.

"Nope," Tony said with a long suffering sigh. "Seriously, you haven't noticed _anyone_ missing?"

Ziva and Tim looked at each other for a brief moment, then back at Tony. "Gibbs?"

"Ah ah ah… It's not time for his dramatic entrance yet," Tony said, as if correcting a student. "You have one more try."

Ziva cocked her head. "Hudson?"

"That's right. The new guy," Tony said. "He hasn't shown up yet and, I don't know about you, but that could turn out to be bad for his record."

"Except he's not running late," Ziva pointed out.

"Yet."

She simply shrugged. "There's been an accident at North Capitol and everything's slowed to a crawl. He's probably stuck there."

"Unless he's taken the subway; it's close to where he lives," Tim piped in.

He soon regretted saying anything as both Ziva and Tony stared at him – or, to be more precise, as she glared at him and he raised an eyebrow in an intrigued manner.

"And how, exactly, do you know that, McGee?" the senior agent asked.

Tim shifted on his chair embarrassedly. "I… may have found his file and… taken a look?" he admitted.

"Really?" Tony said and then turned to Ziva. "Same thing happen to you?"

"If you're to judge me, you would only be calling the pebble black," she said defensively.

"…That's kettle," Tony said.

"Fine. Whatever it is, you still started it."

"Well, I do have to know to whom I'm gonna trust my back, don't I?"

Tim and Ziva nodded thoughtfully, supposing that that made sense.

"So… shall we cross-reference our findings?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Right," Tim said, typing on the keyboard and then pressing enter, showing Hudson's service file on screen. "Nathan Hudson, aged 35, born in Pennsburg, Pennsylvania; got his Bachelor's Degree in English Literature at age 23, joined the Marine Corps shortly after. Was with the 2/7 until recently, reaching the rank of sergeant."

"2/7?" Ziva echoed with a frown.

"2nd Battalion, 7th Marines," a voice said right behind them, making the trio practically jump. They winced inwardly when they realized that the very man himself was standing right there, the backpack still over his shoulder as he had decided to look at his file along with them as if there was nothing wrong whatsoever. His lips tugged to a small smirk as he regarded himself in the picture. "I look good."

Tim simply blushed and closed the file. Tony, on the other hand, had more things to say.

"Marine Hudson… You know, if your first name was William, I'd be worried."

"I'd be more worried if my last name was Hicks. Then I'd just die in the first three minutes of the sequel – without so much as a line," Hudson replied as he placed his backpack down and settled at his desk.

Ziva and Tim leaned towards one another. "Do you have any idea what they're talking about?" Tim asked.

"No, but if he knows the Tony Tongue, _we _should be worried," Ziva said.

"Actually, call it 'hearing the joke one time too many'," Hudson said with a weak smile as he turned on his computer.

Tim blinked. "The joke?"

"He's a marine… named Hudson," Tony repeated slowly, hoping that that would ring some bells in Ziva and Tim's mind.

Alas, that was not the case, so he tried again.

"'Game over, man! Game over!'?"

Nothing.

"_Aliens_, guys! Sigourney Weaver at her best with an Oscar nomination! You're killing me here!" Tony exclaimed. "I especially expected more from you, McGeeky."

"Not unless little green men had something to do with our case," Gibbs said, walking in. "Dead private, one bullet-wound in his chest; found in the trash. We're leaving now."

None of them had to be told twice as they grabbed their gear and followed Gibbs out the door. Even so, there was still something that troubled Hudson.

"Will we be able to arrive on time? There's been an accident at North Capitol," he asked Tim as they walked side by side.

"Boss and Ziva are driving," Tim replied.

"…And that means?"

He got his answer the moment he sat down on the passenger's seat and Ziva stepped on the gas. Let it be said his squeak was barely heard as both vehicles screeched their way out of the parking lot on top speed.

* * *

It wasn't difficult to spot the crime scene; all they had to do was look for the crowd of people that had gathered around, drawn by morbid fascination and curiosity. And though the police tried its best to keep the crowd at a safe distance, the team still had to push and nudge their way through.

"Ziva… This isn't Israel and there aren't snipers at every corner about to shoot us," Tony pointed out.

"And yet how many times have we been shot at?" she deadpanned, hardly fazed.

Tony opened his mouth to answer, but two familiar faces didn't give him the chance.

"Ah, Jethro," Ducky smiled, walking up to them. "I was wondering when you'd show."

"Accident at the North Capitol; had to take a shortcut," Gibbs replied.

"Ah, I see…"

Meanwhile, Tim had decided to take it upon himself to check on Hudson. This had been the trainee's first time in a car with Ziva and it mustn't have been pleasant in the least.

"You okay?" he asked confidentially.

"Peachy," Hudson dead-panned. "I've always wanted to travel at warp speed."

Tim bit his lip to choke his laughter down. Hudson, on the other hand, raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Sorry… didn't have you for a Trekkie," Tim explained.

Hudson mouthed an 'oh' in understanding. "I do like Star Trek, but I'm more of a Dr. Who fan."

"Good God, McGee… Marry him," Tony said, overhearing the conversation.

"Whenever you feel ready," Gibbs said then. "Hudson… Witnesses. See to them."

"On it," Hudson replied with a nod, and he turned on his heel.

"Ziva, DiNozzo, clues. McGee, photos."

The other three nodded as well and saw to their tasks. Ducky, on the other hand, couldn't help but watch Hudson with interest.

"New blood in the team, Jethro?"

"Vance's orders," Gibbs said simply and then nodded in the direction of the body, finally out of the pile of trash he had been lying in. "What can you tell me, Duck?"

"Well, considering the creativity several killers in your shift seemed to have had over the years, it has been a while since I've seen someone simply thrown to the garbage," Ducky replied, straightening his glasses. "Or that would have been the case if Mr. Palmer here didn't find something of particular interest. Mr. Palmer, please kindly show to our audience your discovery."

Palmer nodded and he sat on his knees, picking up the right arm. Gibbs frowned as he saw plainly as day several lacerations not only on the forearm, but on the dead man's right side as well.

"Somebody brought a knife in a gunfight," he commented.

"I would say something larger than a knife," Ducky said. "Although I can also safely say that these certainly haven't been the cause of death. His cause of death was a single bullet in the chest with point of entry here…" with that, he pointed at a lone hole on the man's shirt on the left side, "without any exit points. In fact, the lacerations must have happened prior the poor soul's final demise."

"The wounds are covered in Betadine," Palmer explained. "It seems that he was trying to disinfect them just before he was gunned down."

"Indeed. Though they seemed to know what they were doing, it hardly saved them in the long run… considering where they ended up," Ducky said.

Gibbs nodded his understanding, still looking at the body closely. "There's no pool of blood."

"He could have been moved here after the shooting," Palmer suggested.

"Or another reason that I'll verify once we're done with the autopsy," Ducky said, and he tilted his hat, just a bit. "Till later, Jethro."

"Right. Thanks, Duck," Gibbs replied and then headed towards Hudson. The trainee was speaking to an elderly woman, jotting down everything she was telling him. The woman herself looked like she hadn't met such a good listener in ages; she was talking in quite the animated fashion, obviously embellishing her testimony and reaching it to the levels of gossip.

Hudson noticed the former gunny from the corner of his eyes and smiled charmingly at the woman. "That's my boss; I shouldn't keep him waiting. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Keane."

"You're quite welcome," she replied. "If you ever visit again, you know where to find me."

"Of course. And here's my phone number, in case you remember anything else," the young man said with a smile, handing her a card.

She smiled back at him brightly before addressing Gibbs.

"He's a sweetheart. He reminds me of my grandson!"

With that, she walked away, giving a chance for the two men to talk.

"Making new friends, Hudson?"

"She… had a lot to say," the younger man replied.

"I gathered. Anything useful?"

Hudson nodded, looking down at his notes. "The victim's name was Jessie Malone. Aged 18, recently recruited to the Marines; rented an apartment here six months ago. Kept to himself mostly, but his brother, a Kurt Malone, visited him at least once a week. About last night now: Mrs. Keane said that she, and practically everybody else in the building, heard loud bangs. Some looked out their windows to see what was going on, but they didn't manage to see anyone or anything; it was too dark."

"What time?"

"About half past one."

"She found the body?"

"Yeah. She was looking for her cat and found him instead."

Gibbs pursed his lips in thought. "Did anyone try to move him?"

"Not to her knowledge."

"In which apartment did he stay in?"

Hudson looked down at his notes again. "213."

Gibbs nodded his understanding and looked up at the building, where he figured the apartment was. He could clearly see a window was open, right over the large garbage bins. So it would have been easy for someone to drop the body from up there...

"Try to see if anybody has something more to say and then contact Malone's brother."

"Okay, Boss," Hudson said with a nod.

* * *

Tim focused the lens and then took another photo before moving on. That, however, was easier said as done as he had to move through the pile of trash, doing his best to get dirty as little as possible and yet failing miserably. And he wasn't the only one who didn't like the experience in the least.

"Ugh," Tony said, his face distorted in an expression of disgust. "They could have thrown the body somewhere else!"

"And where did you have in mind?" Ziva asked without bothering to look up; she was too focused on finding anything out of place.

"I don't know… A place where my Ferragamo shoes wouldn't be ruined maybe?" the senior agent deadpanned.

"Then next time don't put Ferragamo shoes at work," she said.

"Um… No," Tony replied. "Does James Bond wear Nikes when saving the world?"

"James Bond doesn't have to go through the trash in search of evidence either."

"But if he ever had to, he'd do it with style." In the next moment, a nauseating squelching sound informed Tony that he had, in fact, ruptured one of the bags, and his entire foot was in garbage.

Ziva opened her mouth to say something, but the senior agent lifted a finger in warning.

"Not. A word."

Ziva raised a placating hand as if to say 'Okay,' and resumed with her search.

"Got anything?" Gibbs' voice asked in that moment and, a few moments later, appeared the man himself, regarding all three of them in a business-like manner.

"If there is anything, we need to know what that is exactly," Ziva replied. "Otherwise, we're just looking for a needle in the haystack."

Gibbs nodded his understanding and then pointed in the direction of the body. "McGee, our victim wasn't shot on the street; there's a good chance he was shot in the apartment. What does that tell us?"

McGee frowned gently as he considered matters carefully. Finally, it hit him.

"We might be able to find slugs."

"If the killer didn't take them with him," Tony pointed out.

"One way to find out," Gibbs replied, and he headed towards the apartment.

* * *

It didn't take them long to get inside Malone's apartment; the landlord had his set of keys with him and let them inside without much fuss. Trying to find clues in an apartment that seemed immaculate and undisturbed was a different matter entirely, however…

"Found a Beretta," Ziva declared, opening the drawer further and recovering the gun from inside. She held it carefully in her gloved hands, taking extra care as she opened it to look the amount of bullets inside it. "Doesn't seem to have been fired, but I'll ask Abby to see what she can find."

"If he was really shot in here, why did no one make the connection before?" Tony said with a frown.

"If you want to believe that it's just a mugging gone wrong, then that's what you're going to believe," Gibbs replied, looking over at the mantelpiece in the wall.

"And what do _you_ believe, Boss?" Tony asked.

"I believe that there was no forced entry, so Malone let his killer in."

"They knew each other," Ziva concluded.

"Yup," Gibbs replied.

There was a polite knock on the door, making everyone turn. Hudson was standing in the doorway, seeming like he wanted to talk to Gibbs.

"Yeah?" Gibbs said, regarding him curiously.

"I've found Malone's brother. I've asked him to come over to our offices in order to answer some questions. He should be there in an hour."

Gibbs frowned. "He didn't ask you what it was all about?"

"No. In fact, he didn't sound surprised at all," Hudson replied. "Just thought I should let you know."

Gibbs pursed his lips in thought, and then nodded his thanks before pointing towards the study. "See what you can find in there."

Hudson complied at once and headed to the other room. Meanwhile, Tony's voice sounded from the bathroom.

"Found the Betadine. And… Oh ho, what's this?"

"What?" Tim asked, overhearing the senior agent.

"Guy had a blow-dryer here."

Tim frowned. "Where's the big surprise there? I have one too."

"Yes, but is it pink?" Tony declared, stepping out with said blow-dryer in hand, only to frown in the next moment as he heard something rattle. He shook the blow-dryer again, and the same rattling noise filled the air once more.

Tim blinked. "No… and it's not doing that either," he said.

Tony held up the blow-dryer, looking at the back… and then his eyebrows shot up.

"What?" Tim said, walking up to him.

"It's a bullet," Tony said.

* * *

Tony entered the forensics lab, not surprised in the least to see that Abby was busy as a bee. True, not many lab assistants had music at full blast and danced to the rhythm as they typed away, but Abby wasn't like most lab assistants.

"Hey, Abby," the man said, walking up to her.

"Tony!" she exclaimed with a grin. As she looked up though, she cocked her head in a curious manner. "Isn't Gibbs with you?"

"He went to see Ducky, so I came to see how you were doing with the bullet," Tim replied before holding up the traditional Caf-pow cup. "Not without tribute, of course."

Her lips would have tugged to an even bigger grin, if that were possible. "Why thank you," she said as she happily took the cup. "And a good thing too, because I have also delivered."

"What have you got?" Tony asked, following her to the computer.

"First of all, I've got to say that _that_ was a one in a million shot," she said. "I mean, hitting the dryer just so that it goes through the seam without breaking the plastic? Wow!"

"Malone doesn't feel blessed," Tony pointed out. "What can you tell me about the bullet?"

"Right," she said. "The bullet itself is pretty generic: a .22 caliber one, fired from a Beretta, but not the one Ziva found. The murder weapon is out there."

"And considering how many people use Berettas out there, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Tony said mournfully. "And there's something else that's been bothering me."

"What's that?"

"If Malone was really shot in the apartment… why didn't we find any blood?"

* * *

"Here's why," Ducky answered, pointing to the X-ray on the wall. "After our killer missed the first time around, he fired again and, this time, the bullet did quite the number on the young man's insides." He pointed to the bullet hole on the left side of the body's chest. "As our fellow was probably trying to take cover, the bullet entered here and went through the left lung, past the heart and right lung and settled itself in his chest cavity. Since there was no point of exit, the blood accumulated in the chest cavity." He looked at Gibbs. "He can consider himself fortunate that it was an instant death, or the internal bleeding would have surely killed him slowly and sadistically."

Gibbs nodded his understanding, pursing his lips as he stared at the X-ray in thought for several moments before he addressed Ducky again. "Have you taken out the bullet?"

"Yes, Mr. Palmer is taking it to Abby as we speak, though I do believe she already has some news for you," Ducky said. "If you haven't talked to her yet, I suggest you do."

"I've got it covered," Gibbs replied, and he turned on his heel. "Thanks, Duck."

"Jethro…" Ducky said, stopping the man on his tracks. "There's something else that's been troubling me."

"What's that?" Gibbs asked warily.

"The director ordered you to take up a new recruit in your team. And though you would normally do everything within your power to undermine his orders or downright hand over your new recruit elsewhere… you did nothing of the sort."

"He has his uses," Gibbs replied with a shrug and made a motion to walk away once more.

"Every agent has their uses, but that's not your modus operandi. You only work with people that you know you can trust," Ducky pointed out. He straightened his glasses. "Unless… you want to keep an eye on them."

"I'm not his mother, Duck."

"No, that you aren't. You're more like the pyrotechnic trying to figure out what makes the bomb tick before they consider it safe."

Gibbs looked over his shoulder and opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of the mobile phone ringing cut him off. Frowning, he dug the phone out of his pocket and answered it.

"Gibbs… I'll be right up." Once he hung up he headed towards the exit. "See you later, Duck."

"This conversation is far from over, Jethro," Ducky stated after him.

"I consider myself warned," Gibbs said with a wry smile, and he closed the door behind him. In a matter of moments, he was back in the offices, where Tim and Ziva were already waiting for him along with another young man, just a little older than the victim and with some notable resemblance to said victim. It didn't take a great mind to figure out that it was the brother that Hudson had spoken of.

"Boss, this is Kurt Malone," Tim said, making the introductions. "Mr. Malone, this is Agent Jethro Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs," Kurt said, and he stretched a hand in the former gunny's direction. "The agent I spoke to on the phone said that you wanted to talk to me about my brother."

"I did," Gibbs said, completing the handshake in a polite manner. "He had also noted that you seemed to have an idea of what this is about."

Kurt let out a long suffering sigh. "I told him that he'd find himself deep in it if he continued being a stubborn ass, but, naturally, he didn't listen," he said. "Is there any way we can somehow resolve this with as less tension as possible? I'm sure we can work something out."

Gibbs frowned, and he exchanged a glance with Tim.

"What?" Kurt said apprehensively. "You called me because of James Burrows, didn't you?"

Gibbs decided that some things needed a good straightening out. "Mr. Malone, I think it's best if you sat down."

"…Why?" the young man said in a wary tone.

The former gunny realized that he couldn't stall this and, of course, there was no way of sugarcoating it. It was time for the blunt truth.

"Mr. Malone… Your brother, Jessie, was killed last night. Shot in his apartment."

Kurt stared at Gibbs for many long moments incredulously, as if hoping that he had misheard. In the end, though, all he could do was murmur, "Oh my god…" He sighed softly. "Where is he now?"

"In the autopsy. Agent McGee can take you there, if you like."

"C-Can I take his body afterwards?"

"Once Dr. Mallard takes care of the paperwork, of course."

Kurt nodded his understanding. "Thank you," he said softly. "Can I go now?"

"I'd like to know about this Burrows you've mentioned first," Gibbs said. "Was there a history between him and your brother?"

"More like a full-out war," Kurt said wryly. "Jessie didn't say much, claiming he could deal with it, but there have been fights. Lots of them, in fact." He ran his hand through his hair. "And all that because he didn't know just when to quit."

"Any idea what they could be fighting over?" Gibbs asked.

"Mr. Burrows' daughter. He didn't approve of my brother's… advances… towards her." Kurt replied. "Not that they weren't returned, mind you. She had even spent the night at his place more than just once."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at that. "How far do you think he'd go to keep your brother away from her?"

"My brother said that Mr. Burrows had threatened him several times. I had a bad feeling about it, but… to be honest, I thought he was just exaggerating. I mean… all the TV shows have dads threatening to kill the potential boyfriend of their daughters and it's… it's meant to be funny…" He lowered his gaze and rubbed his forehead with a hand. It was clear that he was becoming upset and, though Gibbs sympathized, he had work to do.

"Ziva, take Mr. Malone to the coffee machine; see that he gets something."

Ziva nodded and complied, beckoning the younger man to follow him. Tim, on the other hand, blinked as Gibbs looked at him meaningfully, unsure what it meant; that is, until realization caught up with him.

"I'll see what I can find about James Burrows," he said at once, settling on his desk and typing away on his keyboard.

"And when you do, verify the info with Malone's brother," Gibbs said before looking around. There was definitely something missing from this picture. "Where's Hudson?"

Tim looked up from the computer screen with a visible frown of confusion. "He was here just five minutes ago."

Gibbs pursed his lips indignantly and he dug out his phone. It was good thing he had taken the probie's phone number once the Perkins case had been dealt with, or this time he'd take out the loudspeaker.

The phone rung once, twice… and his ears picked up the sound of a reveille, becoming louder by the second. He stared at McGee, who was just as taken aback.

"…Um… Boss?" Hudson's voice sounded just then.

Gibbs turned on his heel and there was the man himself, his phone in his hands as it still played the reveille. He gave Hudson one of his best 'Seriously?' looks.

Hudson shifted on his legs and quickly turned off the phone, putting an end to the bugle madness. "I miss the calls otherwise," he said lamely.

Right. As tempted as Gibbs was, it wasn't the time to talk about poor choice of ringtones. "McGee, found anything yet?"

"Just did," Tim replied, putting up the file on screen. "James Burrows, age 48, lives two blocks away from Sierra lodge with his daughter, Samantha Burrows."

Gibbs nodded. That sounded like their guy…

"Verify it with Malone before you give us the address," he said, reaching for his backpack.

"And if it checks out?" Tim asked.

"Then Hudson and we'll pay a visit," Gibbs declared.

"And… what about me, Boss?" Tim asked, cocking his head.

"You'll wait for Ziva and Tony. Let me know as soon as they get back here."

"…Right," Tim said with a nod, and he hurried to find Kurt Malone.

* * *

As it turned out, the info that Tim had found on James Burrows was correct. Seeing their chance, Gibbs and Hudson headed straight to the parking space to pick up Gibbs' car. Hudson was in for quite the surprise, however, when Gibbs suddenly turned to him and said simply, "Think fast," before tossing him the keys. Though Hudson had caught the keys with quite the ease, his surprise was such that he couldn't help but stop on his tracks and stare at the silver keychain. Gibbs huffed inwardly at the sight.

"Today, Hudson."

"Right. Sorry," Hudson murmured, and he settled on the driver's seat. In a matter of moments, the former sergeant had started the engine and they were both off. Gibbs couldn't help but examine the look of intent focus on Hudson's features as he drove in a smooth, steady pace. This was a driver that was certainly not taking any chances, preferring to follow the road signs to a tee. Taking it a step further, it was also the sign of someone who held back, keeping themselves in constant check and monitoring their every motion with utmost scrutiny. And, judging by what he had read in Hudson's file, Gibbs already guessed what lay behind such self-control…

His phone rang in that very moment, cutting into his train of thought. As he knew already who it could be, he picked up the mobile phone and answered.

"Gibbs."

"Tony and Ziva are here, Boss," Tim said from the other end of the line.

"Okay. You all know what to do," Gibbs said, and hanged up. As far as he was concerned, everything was going according to plan, and he now had the chance to do something else that he had put off for far too long.

"Where were you, Hudson?"

Hudson blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"When I called you," Gibbs said. "Where were you?"

Hudson frowned gently. "In the bathroom."

"Next time, let someone know," Gibbs said. "I'm not about to start looking for you every time you make a disappearing act."

"…Understood, Boss. It won't happen again."

"Good," Gibbs said. Call it guts or dealing with a former marine, but the older man was sure that Hudson would keep his word.

"And what's the second thing, Boss?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at that. "You sound pretty certain that there's a second thing."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Neither of us is in the Marine Corps anymore, Hudson."

"But some things remain the same."

Gibbs pursed his lips thoughtfully, and finally nodded, seeing the reasoning. "Permission granted."

"You could have just as easily taken anyone else from the team with you and yet you chose me."

"Maybe I'm just being nice."

"And that's bull," Hudson replied at once. "…With all due respect."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. So… there _was_ some fire in the younger man, after all.

"So why do you think I picked you?"

"Because you've read my DD 214 - my _unedited _DD 214 - and you want to see for yourself if I'll be a liability."

"So will you?" Gibbs asked, regarding him closely.

"I don't intend to be," Hudson replied, his eyes on the road. "I've already taken steps to that direction."

"And you think that will be enough?"

"Any other answer I'll give will be too little or too promising," Hudson said. "If it's not enough for you, then I suggest you let me go while you have the chance. Considering your reputation within NCIS, I think you can pull it off just fine."

"You don't care that you'll probably lose your job if I do that?"

"'Ready for anything," Hudson said, "'Counting on nothing.'"

Gibbs smirked. That was definitely a 2/7 motto, but… "It's outdated."

"Still holds true in many ways," Hudson replied.

Gibbs considered that for several moments, and he decided that this first talk had yielded enough info for now. Hudson had earned the benefit of the doubt for now, and it was time to focus on their job. And not a moment too soon: he could see Burrows' house straight ahead.

"Pull over right here," he said, pointing to their left.

Hudson nodded his acknowledgement and started his maneuvers.

* * *

"Yeah, I knew him," Jack Burrows said gruffly, his hands in his pockets. "That good for nothing punk figured he could fool around with my daughter and get away with it."

"You aren't surprised of his death," Gibbs said regarding the other man closely.

"Why should I be? The way that he put his nose into other's people's business, it was a matter of time before he really got his foot in it," Burrows replied.

"Odd, considering that there are witnesses claiming that he only seemed to have problems with you," Gibbs pointed out.

"If you mean that no-good brother of his, then of course he'd say that."

"Then tell me your side of the story," Gibbs said, hardly fazed at the hostile tone.

"I've already told you. He kept pestering Samantha here," at that he vaguely pointed to his daughter, a girl of seventeen currently sitting on the couch, "so I made it clear that he should stay away."

"Did you file for a restraining order?" Gibbs asked.

"I didn't have time to get around it. But you bet your ass I would have if that had continued on."

Meanwhile, Nathan couldn't help but look around the living room, pursing his lips in thought. Though small and tidy and seeming a pretty ordinary room, there was a collection of machetes hanging from the wall that stood out quite prominently… for more reasons than one. And the young man could tell that Gibbs had noticed it too; though he kept talking to Burrows, his eyes drifted to the fourth hall to stare at them every now and then.

"Mr. Burrows… you should know that Malone had been slashed on his arm and side before he died," the former gunny finally said, "And the coroner determined that it was with something larger than a knife."

Burrows glared at Gibbs, affronted. "What are you implying?!"

"Nothing. I'm saying straightforward that a machete could easily match with the wounds that were found in Malone's body," Gibbs said. "So what's it going to be?"

That seemed to have the power to deflate the large man. He let out a sigh, and then sat down on the couch next to his daughter.

"He came here the night before," he said. "Samantha was in the bathroom, where there's a small window, and Malone called to her. Samantha told him to go away, but he didn't take no for an answer; apparently, he was drunk. She asked for my help; so, yes, I took matters into my own hands."

"What did you do?" Gibbs asked neutrally.

"I warned him, again and again, that he should go before I was forced to hurt him. He didn't take no for an answer, so I slashed him."

"You or your daughter could have called for 911," Nathan pointed out.

"With that time response of theirs? I'd rather take my chances," Burrows huffed. "Besides, after I got him, he ran off. I figured that put an end to his stupidity."

Gibbs nodded his understanding and started putting on a pair of medical gloves. "Which machete was it?"

Burrows went up to the wall, and picked up the largest machete of the collection.

"Here," he said, audibly grudgingly.

"Thank you," Gibbs said and stood up, the machete in his hands. "Note that you'll have to come down to the NCIS offices to give an official statement."

"Yes, yes, I will."

"And your daughter," Nathan pointed out.

"Leave my daughter out of this!" Burrows growled.

"She's a witness and, apparently, knew the witness," Gibbs said. "We have to hear what she has to say."

"I… won't be able to tell you more than what my father already has," the girl whispered, the first time she spoke during this whole time.

"If anything then, you'll be able to confirm your father's story," Nathan replied gently. He couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but he'd say that there was something tired and pained in her eyes. Was she grieving for the boyfriend that she had supposedly tried to drive away? Did she just want a nasty business that upset her so much be over and done with? Her father seemed to want that…

"Thank you for your time," Gibbs said with a small nod, and then turned on his heel. "Let's go, Hudson."

Well, it looked like Nathan wouldn't be able to get his answers just yet. Once he had politely thanked father and daughter as well, he obediently followed Gibbs outside.

* * *

"Friendly bunch," Nathan commented quietly once they were outside.

"We're investigating crimes, Hudson. People won't always be nominees for congeniality contests," Gibbs replied, heading towards the car to place the machete carefully inside.

Nathan couldn't help but cock his head. "So you don't think they're hiding something?"

"I _know_ they're hiding something," Gibbs said. "But I don't want _them_ to know I know."

"…Right," Nathan said, letting the words sink in. "So what now?"

"Now, we wait."

That had the younger man more than just a little confused. "For what?"

"Tony and Ziva."

"And they are…?" Nathan asked.

Gibbs smiled enigmatically, and then nodded in the direction of the building across the street. Nathan blinked and looked in the same direction, realizing that the windows had quite the view in the Burrows' place. So, if something _had_ happened, whoever lived there must have witnessed it… and that explained why Ziva's car was parked right outside said building.

"I guess I know now the _third_ reason you wanted me to tag along," Nathan said with a wry smile.

* * *

"Okay… it looks like we'll have to go on the third floor, sixth apartment to the left," Tony said as he and Ziva started checking the tags on the doorbells. "Which should be… this one." He pressed it once and put his hands in his pockets, waiting for the reply. After several moments, however, both agents couldn't help but frown.

"Try again," Ziva suggested.

"Thank you, I was about to," Tony said with a gentle roll of his eyes, and then pressed the button again. Once more, however, there was no answer. Not even the third time that Tony pressed the button. In the end, all that was left for the senior to do was sigh melodramatically.

"Looks like nobody's home."

"Guess we can wait for a while, or ring one of the other doorbells and see what we catch."

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva…" Tony said with a shake of his head. "These buildings are cold and impersonal; no one cares what's happening in the neighbouring apartment, unless they hear a thud and a foul smell coming out of it."

"Let me guess… another movie you're referring to?" Ziva said, raising an eyebrow.

"Close… Jack Nicholson still hit the mark in 'As Good As It Gets'."

She decided not to share his humour and simply pressed another doorbell.

"Yes?" came the reply through the speaker.

"Hello… Mr.… Matthews, is it?" Ziva said.

"That's what the tag says," the man said in an almost impatient tone. "What is it?"

"NCIS agent Ziva David. My colleague and I are trying to reach Ms Reed who lives next door to you, but there doesn't seem to be an answer from her apartment."

"That would be because she's gone out," Matthews replied. "She should be back in ten minutes or so."

"Okay, then we'll…" Ziva started, but the speaker went dead before she could finish her sentence properly. "…wait."

"Cold and faceless," Tony said close to her, in his unique way of saying, 'I told you so.'

"A little waiting never hurt anybody," Ziva said with a shrug and settled on the stairs on the threshold. "McGee is working on the forensic files, Gibbs and Hudson are interrogating Burrows… We have all the time in the world."

"Good point. The simple pleasure of having an extra pair of hands at work," Tony said, brightening up and settling right next to the woman. "It's like having our own personal Bubo."

"Bubo?" Ziva echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Clash Of The Titans. Classic one."

"I wonder if I should tell you that 'bubo' also stands for bubonic -"

"Can I help you?" a voice said just then, interrupting Ziva. The two agents looked up to see a woman in her late thirties regarding them with quite the curious expression.

"That depends," Tony said, putting on his charming smile. "Are you Ms Reed?"

"Yes," the woman replied, frowning gently. "What's this about?"

"Ms Reed, we're special agents David and DiNozzo," Ziva said, holding up her badge. "We're looking into a murder case and we were wondering how well you know a certain James Burrows; he lives in the building across from you."

"Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name," she said with an apologetic smile. As she looked in the direction that Ziva pointed, however, her eyes flashed in realization. "Oh… you mean _that_ guy?" She shook her head. "I only know his face; we don't really talk. A good thing too, I guess. He's got some really bad anger management issues."

"Really? Pray tell," Ziva said, her interest piqued.

"He keeps yelling at people all the time. He had a fight with the owner of the grocery store around the corner, called the delivery boy all sorts of names even though he himself had called him… doesn't let anyone approach the house, period. The kid last night found that out the hard way."

Ziva and Tony exchanged a glance.

"Can you tell us specific details?"

"I'm not sure what you'd like to know," Ms Reed said thoughtfully. "I was at home at about 11 o'clock, and I heard that guy, Burrows, shouting bloody murder. When I looked at the window to see what was going on, Burrows was purple with anger, a huge sword-thing in his hands and chasing someone away. Kid didn't look more than twenty so I guess he wanted to see Burrows' daughter."

"Had you seen the kid before?"

"Can't say that I had, no. Then again, it was pretty dark when I saw the whole thing so who knows."

"You didn't call 911?" Ziva asked curiously.

"It was over pretty quickly. Calling 911 seemed pointless by then."

"Right… Thank you for your time, Ms Reed," Tony said, digging a small business card out of his pocket. "Here's my card. Please don't hesitate to call if you'd to contact me."

"Even if it's not strictly business?" Ms Reed said, raising an eyebrow gently.

"If I'm not strictly on duty," Tony replied.

"Okay then," the woman said with a smile, and she headed inside. Tony, on the other hand, practically preened as he headed inside the car.

"Still got it," he said, grinning.

"And we're all impressed," Ziva deadpanned. "Now move."

"Yup… still got it," was all that Tony said before climbing in the car.

Ziva narrowed her eyes, and didn't regret a thing when she drove off at full speed, making her partner scream like a little girl.

* * *

"What have you got?" Gibbs asked the moment that Tony and Ziva stepped out of the elevator and to the offices.

"Burrows is a real charmer," Tony replied. "A witness told us about a fight between him and probably our friend Malone on the night of his murder."

"At least Burrows' story checks out till now," Hudson said thoughtfully from his comfortable perch behind his desk.

"As well as his personal feud with Malone," Ziva seconded. "The question now is: did he have anything to do with Malone's death?"

"There might be," Tim said just then, clicking on several files that he had just downloaded. "I checked for any other records of the Burrows family, but there was no such thing here in the city. So… I dug a little further, and found that they had recently moved in from their hometown of Chesapeake City…"

"To the point, McGee," Gibbs replied stolidly.

"…Right. To the point, Boss… I just found this local newspaper, and the Burrows are mentioned in it." With a final click, Tim brought up said file on screen, and everyone frowned as they read the small, yet very clear headline.

_Burrows declared innocent over abuse charge_.

* * *

"In here," Nathan said gently to Samantha, escorting her to the interrogation room.

Though she kept her eyes low, the young girl complied and sat down without so much as a word. Nathan noticed her hands knitted on her lap, an apparent sign of nervousness and tension coursing through her.

"Is there anything you'd like me to bring? Some water, perhaps?" Nathan attempted in the hopes of breaking the ice. Ziva had said that she would be here soon to question the girl, but it wasn't the right idea to leave Samantha alone either.

She shook her head quietly, and Nathan supposed he shouldn't pursue the matter further. He stood next to the wall in silence, trying not to stare in her direction and discomfit her. He was quite surprised, however, when, a few moments later, she spoke up.

"He killed Jessie, didn't he?" Her voice was soft, resigned… almost broken.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Nathan said truthfully enough.

A sob filled the air. "This is all my fault…"

Okay, they wouldn't be able to question her if she was like that. Nathan had to do something. "Miss Burr… Samantha, look at me, please."

She hesitated, but, in the end, she complied.

"Did you tell Jessie about your father?"

She nodded. "I thought if I did, he'd stop coming. I didn't want him… hurt."

"What did he do?"

"…He kept coming."

"And he did because it was his choice," Nathan said.

"But he ended up dead!"

"Because someone chose to kill him. We'll find out who did it, and they'll be brought to justice."

She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well, justice hasn't been really helpful to me."

"Yeah, I've read the media's side of the story," Nathan said. "What's yours?"

She simply opened her shirt, revealing her collarbone, its colour a nasty black and blue. "It doesn't always show like that," she said. "So the judge preferred to believe my dad instead. And now there's nothing I can do about it anymore."

"Double jeopardy," Nathan said knowingly.

She nodded, wiping away the stray tears that trickled down her cheeks.

"That doesn't mean that he can't be convicted for anything else," Nathan said. "Even if that fails, though, there's always the third option."

She looked up at him, not really understanding.

"Run," he explained.

She shook her head. "It's not that simple."

Nathan smiled softly. "But not impossible. Set your goal, plan it carefully, patiently and then act at first chance."

She blinked. "You sound like you know what you're talking about," she murmured.

"I do, don't I?" Nathan said. In all honesty, that hadn't been his intention. "Actually…"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence, because it was then that Ziva walked in.

"Everything okay?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She probably realized that she had interrupted something.

"Yeah, Miss Burrows and I were just talking," Nathan said with a reassuring smile before leaning confidentially close to Ziva. "She has a nasty bruise on her collarbone," he whispered. "Shall I call Dr. Mallard?"

Ziva thought about it, and then nodded. "It might confirm the abuse," she agreed. "Anything else?"

"She just told me that she had confided in Malone about the situation in her house."

"Okay. Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem. Will you take it from here?"

"Sure," she said, his lips tugging to a small smile.

"Okay," Nathan replied. And with a final smile at the girl, he walked out.

Little did he know that Tony had been in the other room the whole time, and he had heard just about everything.

* * *

Gibbs sat down, hardly acknowledging the man that was sitting across from him and his expression the epitome of cold professionalism. Mr. Burrows, on the other hand, was anything but calm as he fidgeted on his seat and drummed his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.

"Are you in a hurry, Mr. Burrows?" Gibbs asked without so much as looking up.

"Care to explain what the meaning of this is?" Burrows demanded. "I've already told you everything I know."

"Not everything."

"What?"

"You had been placed on trial on charges of abuse against your daughter."

"Those were dropped!" Burrows growled. "I don't care what she told you!"

"She did more than say. She showed."

"Oh, so there's no chance she could have done the bruise to herself?"

"Who said anything about a bruise?"

There was a pause of silence Burrows sat back. "What are we doing here? Playing mind games?"

"I hardly play," Gibbs replied. "Especially when there's a murder involved." With that, he tossed a file on the table. "We found a Beretta in your house. Apparently, machetes aren't the only things that you collect."

"You had no right!" Burrows said at once.

"I had every right; I had a warrant. And, surprise, the ballistic showed that the bullet found in Malone's body matches your Beretta. Not to mention your fingerprints are all over said gun."

"Of course my fingerprints were all over _my_ gun!"

"Which was found hidden under the working table of your garage. You kept the gun locked at all hours with a key that was recovered from your back pocket of your jeans before you were escorted here!"

"That doesn't prove anything!"

"It still makes a damning case!"

A knock on the door cut through the tension, and Gibbs clenched his hands in frustration. "Yes!"

McGee stepped in, an apologetic look on his features. "Sorry, Boss, but I need to talk to you for a sec."

Gibbs pursed his lips, but he finally got up and walked up to McGee. "Talk to me," he said in a soft tone.

"Abby found traces of gunpowder in a pair of gloves we recovered from Burrows' place… Gloves that aren't Mr. Burrows'. They can't be." He handed over the file to Gibbs, and the former gunny looked at the photo attached to it.

_No… definitely not Mr. Burrows'… _Eyes gleaming in determination, he looked up at McGee.

"Stay with him."

He didn't bother to hear McGee's 'Okay'. He just headed down the corridor and straight to the room where Samantha was… and frowned when he saw that Duck was inside with Ziva.

"Oh… Jethro… I don't usually work with live patients, but Ziva wanted me to examine a rather large bruise on her collarbone."

"Caused by Mr. Burrows," Gibbs said.

"Yes… the hand that caused the bruising was certainly large and it was done with quite the force."

"How old is the bruising?"

"Several hours old."

"Could it have been done last night?"

"…I believe so."

"What's going on?" Samantha asked, obviously unsure what to make of the secretive discussion.

Well. It was now or never. "When did you get that bruise?"

She blinked. "Last night."

"You don't get it. When exactly?"

"…After my father chased Jessie away."

Gibbs nodded. "Was that the last straw? Or had you planned that as well?"

The girl's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about these," Gibbs said, showing the picture of the pair of gloves. "They are yours and currently covered in gunpowder." He placed the photo down, his eyes never leaving Samantha. "You shot Jessie Malone."

"No, it was my father…"

Gibbs shook his head. "The wounded animal gambit won't work this time," he said. "I should have seen it before, from the moment that I noticed that the door hadn't been forced in any way. From the moment I realized that Jessie Malone never went for his gun, something that he would have done if it _had_ been your father at the door. But the person who was at the door was the one person that he thought would never hurt him. Someone who had access to her father's key; used it to get to the gun, and then put it back in its place before it was missed."

The girl stared at him for him for many long moments, only to sigh in resignation. "He beats me, don't think I'm making this up," she said softly. "But he couldn't be tried for the same crime again. He knew it, and he became bolder. After that, I had two choices. Run away, or make sure he's put away."

"So you made it look like your father killed Jessie Malone."

"I told Jessie about the abuse… he came to my house, confronted my father… And I knew I had my chance."

"You stole the gun, caught Jessie off his guard and you went back home."

She nodded. "But you have to believe me; I did it to protect myself!"

Gibbs pursed his lips and stood up. "I would have believed you but for one thing: you took advantage of an innocent private's feelings to reach your own ends. Ziva, cuff her."

Ziva nodded and she took out her handcuffs, ready to put them into good use.

* * *

"I actually believed her," Nathan said with a shake of his head as he still busied himself with his paperwork.

"Aw… don't feel bad, probie; we all believed her," DiNozzo said, leaning against his office with his hands in his pockets. He was regarding the trainee closely, almost thoughtfully. "Then again, you had one more reason to believe her."

"Excuse me?" Nathan asked.

McGee and David were just as intrigued if the way they pricked up their ears was any indication.

"Well, you did sound like you _knew_ what you were talking about when you talked to her," DiNozzo said, his tone far from innocent.

"You listened in on me?" Nathan said, frowning as indignation washed through him.

"If you don't want anyone to know your personal stuff, you should keep them out of work," DiNozzo stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"…Right." Nathan picked up his pack and made sure that everything was inside. He'd rather he didn't say anything he regretted, because, no 1: it wasn't worth now that his eight hours for today were over and, no 2: DiNozzo had a point. Nathan shouldn't have let his guard down that way, not among them. He knew better than that. "Well… see you tomorrow, guys."

He barely took two steps towards the exit before DiNozzo's voice stopped him.

"So how did you know? Did you have to run away too?"

Nathan was almost tempted not to answer that, he somehow knew that that wouldn't help matters. This was the time to ride it out.

"Never did eventually."

Now it was DiNozzo's turn to frown. "'Eventually'? What do you mean 'eventually'?"

"Ah ah ah… I've thrown you a bone for today," Nathan said, winking, and he addressed the others once more. "Bye, y'all."

And with that he walked away. Some things were better left unsaid…

* * *

"Did you really have to do that?" Ziva asked, glaring at Tony.

Tony, however, shrugged. "I was already in there when they started talking and the mic was accidentally on."

"Mics don't get accidentally on," Tim pointed out.

"Then I guess miracles never cease," Tony smiled.

"They better cease for a while, since you never know for what reason Hudson was discharged," Ziva said. "It could have been for shooting his nosy colleague."

"Nah… He got honourably discharged," Tony replied, waving his hand dismissively.

"Maybe he did them a favour," Ziva deadpanned.

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but it was then that the phone rang. He screened the number, and then flashed a bright grin.

"As much as I'd like to answer that, Ziva, _I_ have a date to arrange," he replied and pressed the button. "DiNozzo."

Ziva shook her head and muttered something under her breath that Tim was sure it was Jewish and very, _very_ unpleasant.

* * *

Abby blinked when she saw a muffin landing next to the microscope she was currently looking through. And she was more than just a little surprised when she saw who had placed said muffin on the desk.

"Hey, Nathan!" she said, sitting up. "What's this for?"

"Figured I should return the courtesy," Hudson replied, smiling gently. "As thanks for the warm welcome you gave me."

"Aww, that's sweet," she said, smiling broadly as she picked it up. "And it's chocolate too! Thank you!"

"No problem. See you tomorrow," Hudson said, and he headed towards the exit.

"Hey, wait up!"

He blinked, surprised, nevertheless he stopped on his tracks. "What?"

"So how do you find working with Gibbs so far?"

Now that was a good question and it needed some thought. "He seems like a firm man, trying to do what's right."

"That's the official statement," she teased. "What's the unofficial?"

Hudson smiled; he had been busted. "Can't say I have figured him out. He keeps his cards close to his chest."

"Kind of like you," Abby said goodnaturedly.

"Oh. Sorry," he said.

"Are you kidding? A dark, mysterious stranger with an enigmatic past? It adds the fun to the getting to you know you part!" she said.

"Then tomorrow I'll make sure to wear my raincoat and fedora."

"You have a fedora? That's so awesome!"

"Wait till you see me wearing it too," he said with a wink. "Well, see you Abby."

"Bye!"

They didn't have to say anything else… There was no need to. Hudson simply walked away, smiling softly to himself.

**THE END**


	3. Past Tense - Part 1

Though the sound of jackhammers and drills wasn't a thing uncommon in this modern day and age, it was certainly unusual for the small clearing close to the outskirts of Washington. The quaint little abandoned house that reigned over the tiny kingdom of tranquillity was currently invaded by the steel tanks of bulldozers and scavengers, laying flat everything that stood in their way so that a new road would be opened in the name of science.

"Collins, you and your team tear down the wreck," the chief engineer barked, pointing at the small house with the roll of papers he was holding in his hand. "Mason, you take care of that fence. And make it snappy; we've got a deadline to meet!"

"Boss, what about that barrel?" one of the workers asked, staring at the large iron barrel in the backyard in wonder. After all, who would put such a thing there, of all places?

"Is it empty?" the engineer asked.

A second worker examined it. "Filled to the brim with dried concrete."

The engineer pursed his lips. "Break it down and clear it!"

"Got it, Boss," the first worker replied, already picking up a sledgehammer and setting to work.

Little did any of them know that, after one particularly strong blow the barrel of cement would break in two, revealing the gruesome contents of a skeleton, its jaws wide open in a silent scream.

* * *

Tony stepped into the elevator, coffee in hand, and he quickly pressed the button to head upstairs. Though he usually had to share the ride with at least three or four people, also on their way to their offices, Tony was a good twenty minutes earlier this time and for a good reason. Well, good reason for him anyway. It meant the coast was clear and he could indulge himself in some dirt-digging in Hudson's computer. It was true that he didn't have McGoogle's knack for cracking codes and hacking systems, but Tony knew his way around computers too – better than he let on. It gave everyone in the team a false sense of security, and it gave _him_ the power to do his own thing without being suspected. Well, no… he was always suspected, but since they almost never had palpable proof, he could also deny everything and be off the hook. When he didn't receive the Gibbs-slap, that is…

The ping sound echoed through the elevator and cut into Tony's train of thought, reminding him that he had arrived at his floor and it was time to refocus. He scanned all the desks on the floor and, just as he had suspected, no one was present as of yet. Tony prided himself in knowing his teammates' habits so well, but now it wasn't the time to stroke his ego; he had work to do. Throwing his coat precariously on his chair, Tony went to Hudson's office and sat down, reaching for the start button. He was quite surprised to see that he didn't have to actually turn on the computer, though, for it was already on.

Frowning, Tony looked around him to see if there was any sign of Hudson having been here, but there was nothing. Not even his trademarked backpack that the trainee didn't seem to go anywhere without. So, the next logical conclusion would be that Hudson forgot to turn off his computer when he left the day before.

Oh, that was almost too easy. Grinning, Tony looked up at the screen and examined the contents. At first, there didn't seem to be anything remarkable. It was just the Documents section, the Recycle Bin and Net Browser that was pretty much standard to all computers, which meant that, if Tony had to find anything interesting, he'd have to dig further. However, the only files in the Documents section were the ones concerning the Perkins and Malone cases, so Tony opened the Web browser's history next. But, even that turned out to be fruitless. It only had links to the ZNN news, police reports and Marine Corps updates from the frontlines in Afghanistan. Nothing else. Not even so much as a cute kitty picture with lolcat subtitles.

"My porn stash is at home."

Tony looked up, startled, only to see that Hudson was indeed standing in front of him with his right eyebrow quirked, looking at him with a look that a teacher reserved for a particularly naughty schoolboy – despite the fact that it was Hudson who was the subordinate. Still, if there was one thing that the he senior agent knew well, it was how to play the charm card right. He smiled innocently.

"I saw the computer on; didn't see you anywhere; figured I should turn it off to keep indiscreet eyes away." He stood up, 'gallantly' allowing Hudson to sit down.

Hudson mouthed an 'ah' in a sign of understanding and sat down. "You needn't have bothered, though," he said, his eyes never leaving Tony as the latter took up his spot across from the recruit. "I've decided to keep my personal things out of work."

"…You did?" Tony said.

"Oh, yeah," Hudson replied. "You were right to give me that excellent tip, by the way. Thanks."

Tony narrowed his eyes, just a bit. It didn't take a great mind to see that Hudson not only had enjoyed that, but now he was more or less telling the senior agent, 'Now suffer'.

"Just don't listen to my advice too often," he said. "I come up with bad ideas more often than not."

"Duly noted," Hudson replied in a mildly amused tone, and he clicked on the Net browser to log into the ZNN news. Tony watched the recruit in mild interest, only to frown in the next moment as the thought occurred to him.

"So how come you are here now?"

Hudson's lips pursed for a brief moment, and then the recruit shrugged in a casual way. "Woke up early and figured I might as well clock in."

Right, that didn't sound wrong at all. "Don't make that a habit, either. It will only make the rest of us look bad," Tony said, half-teasing, half-serious.

"I'll work on it," Hudson replied, a small smile on his lips.

"Work on what?" Ziva asked, walking in.

"And when did you guys get here?" McGee said. He was right behind the woman, and he was certainly surprised to see Tony and Hudson.

"Not too long ago," Hudson said. "Twenty minutes or so."

"Doing research," Tony said, just as diplomatically.

Ziva regarded Tony with a frown. "You wanted to hack into Hudson's computer, didn't you?"

Hudson raised an eyebrow. "I take it this kind of scenario has been played before?"

"You have no idea," McGee said, sitting at his desk. "He's tried it with mine; even managed it a few times."

"And mine," Ziva said as she sat down as well, her eyes on Tony.

"Really?" the recruit said. He faced Tony, a look of mock disappointment in his face. "And you had me think I was so special."

Tony shrugged with a small smile of feigned embarrassment on his lips, as if he had just been caught cheating, and then he focused on his own computer to actually do some work. Yes, his sneaking had been thwarted completely and utterly. And yet, the senior agent didn't really feel as if his entire venture had been a complete waste. He found out Hudson could take things in a stride when others would have cried 'harassment', so maybe there was some hope for the rookie in this team. And no, Tony wouldn't give up on the 'find new recruit's mysterious background' game, that was way too much fun. The score had simply changed to Tony: 1, Hudson: 1. They'd have their re-match soon enough.

His thoughts were cut short as his phone rang. Frowning gently and wondering who it could be at this time of day, he picked it up.

"Yeah?"

"DiNozzo, is the whole team there?" Gibbs' voice sounded from the other side of the line.

Okay, now that was a surprise. "Yeah," he replied. "Is it about a case?"

"Dead body. Grab your gear; I'll text you the location and we'll meet there."

"…On it, Boss," Tony said and he hanged up before addressing the others. "Guys, I hope you've got your cars handy; we're heading out."

"No can do. I took the subway to get here," Nathan pointed out.

Tim stopped on his tracks, clearly thinking about it. "You can come with me," he finally said.

"Thanks," Nathan said, audibly grateful. "But only if you let me pay for the gas."

Tim blinked, and then nodded slowly. "Sounds good."

"Great, now that you lovebirds have sorted it out, get moving," Tony said. "Somewhere, there is a crime happening."

"Technically, the crime's already happened," Ziva deadpanned.

Tony rolled his eyes gently. "Nobody appreciates a good 'Robocop' quote anymore," he lamented, and he pressed the elevator button so they would all head down to the garage.

* * *

Though it was Tim himself that he had suggested sharing the ride, he quickly realised that he was rather uncomfortable having what was practically a stranger in the co-driver's seat. Sure, Hudson seemed like a decent sort, all in all - focused, helpful and professional, with his heart in the right place. However, in the two weeks that Hudson had been in the team, Tim couldn't help thinking that there was also something distant about him. In fact, he would have even labelled it cold if not for the occasional deadpan comment or the small smiles and soft chuckles here and there.

And yet, that was also the limit of the emotion Hudson had displayed so far. Maybe Tim had got used to Tony's loud, extrovert, attention-seeking attitude, or Ziva's tough, no-nonsense dynamism. Compared to the two of them, Hudson seemed lethargic and meek. Definitely not like an active federal agent.

_And who does that remind you of? _sprungthe question in his mind in a tiny voice that Tim mentally silenced just as quickly. He hadn't been that bad. Maybe.

"How come you were so surprised back there?"

Hudson's voice came out of nowhere, catching Tim by surprise. "What?" He looked briefly the dark-haired man, who was sitting on the co-driver's seat in a relaxed manner and his green-hazel eyes regarding him in an almost curious manner. There was no accusation, nor annoyance. Just simple, honest curiosity.

Hudson's corners of his mouth curved in that familiar, calm smile of his. "When I said that I'd pay for the gas, you looked like you hadn't expected that. Bad precedent?"

"You could say that," Tim admitted.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

_Yes. _Tim didn't voice his answer nor did he have to. Hudson seemed to have realised that as well, for he nodded and looked out the window, seeming satisfied. Yet now that the silence was broken very much like a bad spell, Tim didn't want to see it returned. The atmosphere would simply be too tense and, really, there was enough tension in their job without having to add to it.

"You don't have to keep adding 'agent' when you talk about us," he said. "I mean… we're all agents and you've been here for almost two weeks now."

Hudson pursed his lips, his expression clearly thoughtful. "I guess it can be a mouthful. I should call you just McGee then?"

"Yeah, it's good," Tim replied. "We keep calling you Hudson, right?"

The recruit's smile curved further; a subtle flicker, but it was there. "Right."

"Great." Well, Tim was glad that they had settled that part. Unfortunately, that meant that there was silence again, and it looked like Hudson didn't mind disturbing it. So, it was up to Tim to break it once more.

"So… 2/7."

"Yup," Hudson replied with a nod. "Proper War Dog, Echo Company."

In any other occasion, Tim wouldn't have understood what Hudson had just said. But he had been curious and decided to see what he could find more in the safety of his home, rather than sneaking his way around like Tony had attempted. Apparently, War Dogs was the nickname they had given to the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines, and Echo Company stood for E company, naturally. It wasn't that that had made him even more curious, though. It was the location of their Headquarters.

"California's a long way from here."

"I didn't always live in Washington," Hudson pointed out with a shrug. "I was already in San Bernandino for my English Literature classes and, after I finished my studies there, I put down my options and decided to enlist there."

"How come?" Tim asked, unsure what to make of that. It was a good decision to serve one's country, by all means, but it wasn't the easiest decision to make. There was usually a reason behind it, and he couldn't help but wonder what Hudson's was.

"I'll disappoint you but it was only _part_ patriotism at first," Hudson said. "English studies are nice, but they don't really guarantee a job afterwards, especially with so many people out there for potential hire. It was basically take a number and wait in line, which was as frustrating as it was disappointing. But I knew Military takes care of its people; if anything, I'd have a steady income. All I had to do was serve the obligatory five years in the Marine Corps and then I'd venture again in the civilian world with some money that would sustain me long enough till I found something else."

Time frowned softly, something not quite adding up. "But you stayed eight years."

Hudson smiled wryly. "That I did."

"Why?"

Hudson shrugged carelessly. "I was good at it. And… there's a certain sense of fulfilment when you fight, one that doesn't have to do with shooting down as many enemies as possible or win battles or whatever; who's the biggest badass doesn't apply out there in the battlefield," he said. "It's all about keeping alive the ones next to you. By making yourself a shield, you not only keep safe those that can shield you back, but those that are behind the enemy lines, too. That was a duty that, by the end of five years, I couldn't really walk away from."

Tim took in everything, registering somewhere in the back of his mind that that was probably the most he had heard Hudson talking. Furthermore, this was a glimpse, a true glimpse, of who the recruit really was, what made him tick. Tim had finally managed to put one piece of the 1,000-piece puzzle that Hudson presented himself. However, Tim also discovered that the pieces were actually quadruple the number, all scattered about on the floor with barely a clue as to the elusive image that they truly composed. A plethora of questions crossed Tim's mind all at once, and yet the most prominent one was also the most logical one.

"But then you left anyway."

Hudson nodded, not looking at Tim. He hadn't been looking at him for quite some time, in fact, preferring to keep looking out the window instead. "Yeah."

"Why? What changed?" Tim asked, the question flowing out of his mouth before he could help it.

"…I did."

_He did?_ The questions swarmed in Tim's mind, buzzing noisily as each tried to take its place in his lips. But just when he had thought he had finally decided what to ask, Hudson looked ahead and sat up, as if spotting something.

"We're here."

Tim looked ahead, only to see that Hudson was right. Even from this distance, he could see the police cars gathered around what could only be the scene of the crime. He even spotted Gibbs' car in the mayhem of vehicles that seemed to practically surround the place, though he really couldn't see the boss himself. Tim supposed that the older man had already gone ahead to have a look at the body before Ducky arrived.

"Looks like we'll have to go on foot from here on," Hudson said, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Tim nodded in agreement and parked his car right behind Tony's. An officer stepped forward the moment they got out of their cars, most probably to tell them that they should step away from the crime scene and let the police do their job, but Tony turned out to be faster.

"NCIS," he said, flashing his badge, a motion that the other three followed to a tee. "You've got a dead body for us?"

"Oh yeah. Right this way," the officer said, already guiding them through the maze of people gathered around. "There's already another NCIS agent in the scene. Friend of yours?"

"Our boss, actually. Where is he?" Tony asked.

"Right here," Gibbs' voice sounded then and, a few moments later, the team spotted the man himself, crouched over the body. Ducky was with him, examining the skeleton with utmost interest, while Palmer busied himself with taking pictures from every possible angle. "Update them for me, Duck."

"Well, that shouldn't take too long," Ducky murmured more to himself than to anybody else before looking up at the newcomers with a genuine smile. "Good morning, everyone. This particular fellow who dragged you all the way out here was discovered in a barrel full of cement, though it doesn't appear to be the cause of his death. That would probably be the belt which you can clearly see still wrapped around his neck." He pointed the very item itself with his pen, barely touching it. "A couple of the cervical vertebrae are broken, so we can assume two possible scenarios: either the murderer snapped the poor chap's neck as he was chocking him, or it broke as he was trying to fit the body inside the barrel."

"I've heard about cement overcoat, but this takes the cake," Tony said, giving the state of the skeleton the once over.

Ziva nodded in agreement, her gaze locked on the body as well. "Do we know who they are?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you there," Ducky replied. "From first glance alone, however, I can tell you that _he_ was male, and the state of their remains tells us that he was here for quite a while."

"And that he was a staff sergeant in the Marine Corps," Gibbs said, holding up a small plastic bag. Everyone clearly saw the small piece of clothing there, frayed and with obvious signs of decay, as well as the insignia that still clung stubbornly on it.

"Service uniform, if the faded khaki colour is any indication," Hudson said thoughtfully. "And yet there were no ID tags on him?"

"If there were, we wouldn't be wondering about his identity, Hudson," Gibbs replied.

Hudson nodded, deciding that that was a good point.

"And it looks like we'll be wondering for some time yet," Tim said, looking wryly at the skeletal hands. Unless there was new technology that would enable him to get fingerprints without flesh fingertips involved, there was no way he'd be able to identify him with his mobile fingerprinting device.

"Perhaps not as long as you may think, Timothy," Ducky said as he got back on his feet with a slight wince; it was obvious that his body didn't take kindly to prolonged crouching.

"Dental records?" Gibbs asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There's that, of course, but it's nigh impossible to find a match before we determine when exactly our deceased fellow here met his demise," Ducky replied. "I believe I'll have to recruit Abby's expertise and eagerness to try out something slightly different."

That had Gibbs visibly frown. "Different?"

* * *

Though the volume of the music that echoed throughout the forensics lab was several decibels higher than the human ear would probably appreciate, Abby wasn't disturbed by it in the least. In fact, she was her usual embodiment of cheerfulness as she presented Gibbs a small plastic bag with a few hairs in it.

"Isotope analysis," Abby declared. "Hair grows about 9-11mm per month and can reach up to 15 cm per year. But, more importantly, it's primarily a function of diet, specifically drinking water intake. The stable isotopic ratios of drinking water are a function of location and the geology that the water percolates through, since isotope variations are different all over the world."

Gibbs gave her his best 'Use plain English, Abby' look, which she caught at once.

She blushed and smiled embarrassedly.

"Right. What I'm saying is that differences in isotopic ratio are biologically 'set' in our hair as it grows. That way, it's possible to identify recent geographic histories by analysing chemical traces of lead, carbon and… other stuff that you don't want to hear of," she said, noticing Gibbs' impatience. "Like, we could tell whether a terrorist suspect had recently been to Atlanta or wherever. Two years ago, they took out of the Thames the body of a small boy, and they found a high strontium isotope ratio signature that pointed to areas of the Pre-Cambrian era, like Nigeria. Guess where the boy was from?"

"I'd rather you told me where _our _victim is from," Gibbs said.

"…No guessing then," she replied. "Okay, fortunately for you, I've already run my tests, so I can safely tell you that the guy was from Florida – Tampa, to be exact - and that he had also been in Vietnam six months before his death. I've got everything here, in case Ducky wants to see them." With that, she handed him over the test results and she smiled brightly at him. "So. Did I deliver?"

Gibbs' answer came in the form of a large cup of Caf-Pow and a kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Abby."

"You're welcome!" she replied. "I'll keep you posted on the belt and the insignia!"

Gibbs made a small wave of his hand, an indication that he had heard her as he walked out of her lab, and that was left for her to do was turn up the music and take a large swing from the cup. Now that was what heavenly bliss was all about…

* * *

"Well, I can tell you that Abby's conclusions have been pretty much spot on," Ducky said, looking at the notes that Gibbs had handed over to him. "In fact, they provide some insight on some little findings of my own."

"Such as?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, for one thing, the body is indeed male, and it's indeed very old," the other man replied. "In fact, it's approximately 30 years old and sporting wounds that have nothing to do with his murder and everything to do with combat experience."

Gibbs realised what that meant and he couldn't help but let out a sigh. "He survived the Vietnam War, only to end up dying here."

"Perhaps that shouldn't come as a surprise," Ducky said. "While in previous wars, every soldier was welcomed home with parades held in their honour, these poor fellows were treated like miasma because they fought in a war that was unpopular, to put it lightly. Many were ostracised, even by their own family members, and were left without much choice but to live in the streets or to find solace at the bottom of a glass."

"… Or become plot points for films and TV shows like Rambo, Airwolf, Magnum P.I., A-team…" But Palmer's voice faltered when he noticed the looks in both Ducky's and Gibbs' face, and he shifted on his legs in an embarrassed manner. "But… that's more Tony's field of expertise than mine."

"Indeed. Besides, Mr. Palmer, I fear real life hardly compares to the life in the celluloid," Ducky replied, covering the skeletal remains once more.

Gibbs, on the other hand, didn't bother to reply. He simply nodded and turned on his heel, heading for the exit. "Thanks, Duck."

"Always glad to be of service," Ducky replied before addressing the still slightly embarrassed assistant. "Now, Mr. Palmer… let's put him somewhere more comfortable, shall we?"

Palmer decided that the best thing to do now was to nod and comply.

* * *

Gibbs strode up to the rest of his team, not surprised in the least to see them already gathered round in order to hear what he said to say. They were just as curious about the identity of the boy and, besides, they had to know what his next orders would be.

"So… what did Abby and Ducky uncover, Boss?" Tony asked. "Was it Don Corleone behind all this?"

"Okay, what would the Mob want with a staff sergeant?" Ziva asked, regarding the senior agent with a raised eyebrow.

"I made him an offer that he refused," Tony said in his best Marlon Brando voice, though that earned him Gibbs' trademarked slap on the back of his head.

"Try to find anything concerning AWOL officers who served in Vietnam, dating thirty years back, McGee. And limit it to the East Coast." Gibbs figured that, if their John Doe had moved anywhere else besides Vietnam, Abby would have been able to find it thanks to the isotope thingamajig.

"On it, Boss," McGee replied, already typing with experienced ease, only to wince in the next moment. "There are about 47 people matching those kind of parameters. And, if I add staff sergeant… just about 20."

"Add one more keyword: Tampa, Florida."

McGee nodded, typing once more, and then pursed his lips in thought. "I've got a match. David Andrews." Pressing enter, he put up the file in the big screen, the photo standing out quite prominently. David Andrews was a black-haired man, with thin lips and a jaw that seemed tightly closed. Gibbs, however, wasn't interested in how the man looked.

"Returned from Vietnam six months prior to his disappearance. Just like Abby said," he said, reading the record. "Any living relatives?"

"None recorded, Boss," McGee replied

"That doesn't help us much," Tony said.

"We could try and locate his commanding officer, or any other colleague of his from that time," Hudson said.

"And someone had to be working on that case back then," Gibbs said thoughtfully. McGee…?"

"Uh…" Tim typed once again. "Special Agent Dane Lois. Retired in 1987."

"And who was commanding officer in Norfolk circa 1970?"

"Just found it," Hudson said, looking at his own computer. "Captain Will Mace, Jr. Retired in 1992. I'll see if I can find a phone number."

"Do that," Gibbs said, pleased to see Hudson's fast thinking. "McGee, try to locate Lois, too. We might have to pay a visit."

"Okay, Boss," McGee said, typing as well.

"What about Ziva and me, Boss?" Tony asked curiously.

"Make a copy of the photo and find out which was Andrews' last known address. Go there and see if anyone can tell you anything about him."

"Let's just hope there will still be someone to remember him," Tony said. "Neighbours don't exactly stay the same over the course of 30 years."

"One way to find out," Gibbs replied, turning on his heel and heading straight to Leon Vance's office – something that didn't escape the rest of the team's attention. Tony especially looked like he was torn over something, but Ziva put an end to his pondering.

"Hey!" With that, she threw a ball of paper straight to his head, her aim both swift and sure.

"What?" Tony said, mildly affronted.

"We have work to do." With that, she picked up the printed photo and her backpack.

"Aren't you even a little bit curious to find out what Boss wants to talk to Vance about?"

"No," the woman replied, and she all but dragged Tony towards the elevator.

Actually, yes, she was curious, but hell would freeze over before she admitted that to Tony…

* * *

Vance hardly looked up from his paperwork at the sound of the door to his office opening. Even so, he was perfectly aware of who had just entered.

"I'm surprised," he said, his focus still on the sheet of paper in his hands. "I don't remember rubbing your fur the wrong way today."

"I need a favour," Gibbs replied simply. He didn't intend to play the particular game today, certainly not when he had a case to solve.

"That's an even bigger surprise," Vance replied, finally looking up with a perfectly raised eyebrow. "Even if I'm sure that it's a favour I'm not going to like."

"I need the phone of your Department of Veteran Affairs liaison."

That finally drew Vance's attention away from his paperwork. The director sat back, regarding Gibbs almost warily. "And what makes you think I have contact with that kind of liaison?"

"Hudson. Somebody pointed you to his direction and convinced you to hire him, when one glimpse in his file renders him unqualified in the eyes of any director," Gibbs replied, daring Vance to prove him wrong.

"You make it sound as if you don't want him here."

"I didn't say that," Gibbs said. "I simply need someone from inside to give me intel concerning a David Andrews, gone AWOL in the 70s, and it's obvious you know that someone."

"Simply?" Vance echoed dubiously. It was clear he suspected that there was more to this.

"Yes."

Silence reigned for a few moments, during which Vance seemed to think over his options. In the end though, he opened one of the drawers of his office, taking out a small business card and a piece of paper. Gibbs watched him as he copied the phone number written on the card, and then he took the piece of paper from the director's hands.

"The name is Alex Reed," Vance said. "Try not to bare your teeth too wide."

Gibbs didn't really bother replying to the particular jab. He just nodded his thanks and walked out, his lips pursed in thought.

* * *

Tim put down the phone, relieved to see that locating Agent Lois had been easier than he had feared at first, and then looked around to locate Gibbs. Right on cue, the very man himself walked out of Vance's office, so Tim figured now it was as good a chance as any to talk to him.

"Boss," he said, hurrying up at him.

"Hit me, McGee," Gibbs answered, still walking.

"Found Agent Lois. Turns out that he remembers the case because it was the first in which he worked as a leading investigator and he did go through the evidence from to time, just in case he had missed something the previous time around…"

That made Gibbs stop on his tracks and glare at Tim, his order quite clear. _Short version._

Tim felt his cheeks reddening. "Sorry, Boss. What I'm saying is that he remembered the case file number and he has handed it over to us so we can look through the evidence ourselves."

Gibbs nodded his understanding and then looked in the direction of Hudson; he had noticed the recruit hanging up from the corner of his eye. "Anything on Mace?"

"Yes, and it's not good," Hudson replied. "He died of a heart attack just a year ago, and his daughter doesn't know anything about any Andrews; he never talked about work at home."

"Then going through the evidence it is," Gibbs declared. "McGee, take Hudson to the storage area and recover it; you're to go through everything, so you'll have to share the workload."

"Okay," Tim said. Just as he was about to get to it, however, he couldn't help but ask, "What about you, Boss?"

"I'm following another lead." With that, Gibbs walked away, not bothering to hear a reply. Tim had no choice but to watch his boss go before letting out a soft sigh, and then he turned to Hudson.

"Ready to go?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Hudson said, standing up and grabbing his backpack.

That had Tim frown. "You won't need that."

"Maybe not. But, after what happened in the morning, I'd rather not leave any of my things out in the open."

Well, Tim supposed that made sense, what with Tony's snooping-around tendencies. Nevertheless…

His train of thought stopped right there and he mentally shook his head. No, Hudson had the right idea: better safe than sorry. So, he simply beckoned the dark-haired man to follow him to the elevator. He wasn't looking forward to wading himself through tons of paper, but… an agent had to do what an agent had to do.

The elevator doors opened with a light ping sound, and Tim and Hudson stepped outside. The newest member of the team was certainly impressed by the secluded, darkened room, if the way that his gaze drifted in all directions were any indication, and Tim had to practically drag him towards the administrator's office like a mother dragging her child towards school. The administrator looked up as he heard them approaching, and he smiled in a friendly manner.

"Hey, McGee. Came to say 'Hi' to the Cryptkeeper?" he said.

"Sorry, Graig, it's just business. We're working on an old case and we'll need the stuff from this case-file number," Tim replied, handing the small note over to the administrator.

Craig read the number carefully. "Okay, I'll see what I can do," he said, and then raised an eyebrow in Hudson's direction. "You look new. What do you need?"

"Oh, I'm with him," Hudson replied, nodding in Tim's direction.

"Hudson here is training with us," Tim explained with a smile.

"You are?" Craig said, clearly surprised. "How long have you been with them, kid?"

"A couple of weeks, give or take."

Craig stared at Hudson quite sceptically. "And Gibbs hasn't scared you off yet?"

Hudson shrugged gently. "I'll start worrying if he asks me to cut off my pinkie."

Tim instantly covered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from laughing, but Craig didn't show as much self-control.

"I like this one," he said. "Anyway, I should probably find your stuff. In the meantime, sign here." With that, he placed a form on the table, along with a small pen.

Tim nodded and signed his name on the form before handing it back to Craig. "How long will it take?"

"Not that long. Just wait here," Craig replied and disappeared in the maze of stacked boxes.

"Shouldn't there be at least two people here?" Hudson asked thoughtfully.

Tim pointed at the small camera in the top left corner of the room. "We're being recorded at all times. There's no way anyone can take anything without Craig knowing."

The recruit nodded his understanding and he put his hand in his pocket.

"Which means you can put down your backpack now."

"Oh, right." Hudson placed the backpack by his feet, only for silence to reign in the room once more – a situation that Tim was growing accustomed to. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how he could ease the tension this time around.

"What's _your_ story?"

Tim blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Hudson cleared his throat, rather embarrassed. "Well... We started swapping life stories in the morning, but we never got around to yours," he said. "So, have you been an agent for long?"

"Oh… um…" Admittedly, seeing how it was now his turn to be in the spotlight, Tim also understood why Hudson didn't open up that easily. How do you start talking about yourself without getting the feeling that your audience was weighing your every word, probably even judging it? Still, Hudson had asked a question, and it was only fair that he answered. "I've been in the Washington Navy Yard for the last three years or so, but I was in Norfolk before that. Major Case Response Team."

"Working with computers?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"Um… Thanks."

…And, apparently, that was the end of their conversation, if the silence that followed were any indication. Or so Tim had thought at first.

"What did you do before that? College?"

"University. I got my Bachelor's Degree of Science in biomedical engineering from John Hopkins University, and then a Master of Science degree in computer forensics from MIT."

Hudson smiled gently. "Impressive list."

Tim could feel his cheeks reddening, and he really hoped it didn't show. "Yeah, I guess. I haven't really thought about it." Great, for all he knew Hudson was now thinking 'God, could you be more egomaniacal?'

"What about DiNozzo and Ziva?"

Oh, good, change of subject. "Tony is the oldest in the group. He was a cop before joining NCIS. Ziva is the newest and she's our Mossad liaison."

Hudson nodded his understanding, his expression becoming thoughtful. It was clear he was contemplating something; but, what that something was, Tim was none the wiser. Nor would he find out for the time being, as it was in that moment that Craig appeared with a large box in his hands.

"Here you go," the administrator said, handing the box over to Tim. "Knock yourselves out, fellas."

Tim winced inwardly as the box was, in fact, too heavy for him, and he only hoped he'd be able to hold on to it till they got to a desk. Even as Craig walked away though, Hudson stepped forward and stretched his hands in Tim's direction.

"I can take that."

"You sure?" Tim said, mostly to keep up appearances. In truth, he just wanted to say, 'Yes, please, I can barely feel my fingers anymore.'

"Might as well make myself useful, right?" Hudson pointed out with a mild tease.

"It's heavy…"

Hudson chuckled. "If your arms didn't drop off by now, I doubt mine will. Now… may I?"

Tim finally relented and handed over the box. If Hudson had problems of his own because of the weight, he didn't show it. He simply gripped the box firmly, keeping it close to his chest.

"Where to?"

"Oh, over there," Tim replied, walking ahead so that Hudson would follow him. Even as they walked on though, he couldn't help but wonder where the Boss had gone to… and if the lead that he followed would turn out to be any good.

* * *

Perhaps it had been part of his training as a sniper, but Gibbs always had a knack for identifying his target, especially in such an open place as a park, where all sorts of people walked about, minding their own business. Today wasn't about to be any different as he sipped some of his coffee and then spotted a woman sitting on the bench, giving the impression that she was simply enjoying her lunch. But, if someone ate lunch and their eyes drifted in every direction as if looking for something – or someone – then it was worth checking out further.

"Miss Alex Reed?"

The woman's honey-coloured eyes gave Gibbs quite the curious – almost wary – look. "Yes… and I take it you're Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs took out his badge, showing it as proof to the woman. Seeming satisfied, she nodded to the spot next to her.

"There's room for one more. But I'm afraid I've only got one sandwich," she said.

He held up his cup. "I'm covered."

She nodded once more, watching him sit down and sip some more of his coffee. "I expected you to be younger."

"Well, I expected you to be older, so that makes us even," Gibbs replied.

"Because of Mr. Vance? He's a family friend. But I doubt you want to hear about that."

"Not really," Gibbs agreed. "But first things first. Did you find anything?"

"Yup," she replied. "It wasn't easy, what with all the veteran cases that are examined on a yearly basis, but I've found your guy." She dug into her briefcase and removed a small file. "Here you go."

"Got a copy of that?"

"This _is_ a copy, so you're good."

Well, that certainly saved him some trouble. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said with a slight shrug. "My boss was surprised at first, though."

"So what did you tell him?"

"Who wanted Andrews' file." She smiled weakly. "Apparently, your reputation precedes you."

Gibbs couldn't help but smirk. Sure, there weren't all that many people that genuinely liked him. Sometimes, however, it was better to be respected than liked.

"And if I ask about a case _you're_ handling?"

She sighed, her expression becoming wry. "Of course that question would come up," she murmured, almost to herself.

He raised an eyebrow, regarding her closely. Reed didn't seem to be fazed, though. She just gave him a look that clearly said, 'Do you really take me for an idiot?'

"If you had only wanted to talk about this Andrews guy, you only had to ask just about anyone from the Department to simply email you the file. Instead, you went through all that trouble to find _my_ number and arrange this meeting. Hardly a coincidence," she said.

Okay, she got him. But that didn't mean that he was backing down. He wanted his answers and he was going to get them. "Anything specific I should know about?"

She frowned. "You haven't read his file, sir?"

"I've read it. It doesn't tell me what I really want to know."

"Which is?"

Gibbs looked at her. He was pretty sure she already knew the question to that; she seemed like a clever woman.

She pursed her lips, even as she wiped her hands on the small napkin. "I doubt he's opened up more to me in these past two months that I've known him than you. But…" she stopped, seeming to hesitate.

"But…?" Gibbs said, regarding her closely.

She thought about it, until she finally seemed to have reached a decision. "But that's also what's disconcerting. I've been working in the Department for three years. It's not long, compared to some people working there, but I've interacted with more than just several veterans. Hudson is just about the first one who doesn't let go, even once. Most veterans will let things like 'My friend will pick this up' or 'I've got my wife waiting in the car' slip out; they loosen up," she said. "Not him though. He never talks about himself, except when asked directly and so can't dodge the question. And even then he's very careful - almost choosing his words."

Gibbs nodded, understanding what Reed was talking about. The last time he and Hudson had a talk, one on one, the young former marine kept a neutral stance about everything. In fact, he only showed a glimpse of an emotion once and even that was quickly smothered before Hudson hid behind his mask of stoicism and acceptance.

Gibbs pursed his lips. He had been suspecting it from day one, of course, but now he could safely say that he had confirmed matters. He could be on his guard, waiting for the time when Hudson's issues caught up with him again, but he wasn't the only one. Unlike Gibbs, however, Hudson wasn't just wary of that moment. He was scared of it.

"So why did you suggest him for NCIS?" he asked.

"I wasn't planning to," Reed replied, rather surprised at the question. "But…" She stopped again, a blush of obvious guilt appearing on her cheeks. Any other man would probably be discreet and let that one pass, but Gibbs was more interested in the truth than in discretion.

"I'd rather you told me everything."

She nodded. "I… talked about Hudson's case over family dinner and… Mr. Vance was there with his family, too," she said. "I don't usually do that, don't get me wrong, but… I really didn't know what to make of Hudson and I needed advice. Mr. Vance pricked up his ears and wanted to hear more and, next thing I knew, he was saying he could have a use for him in the Agency. So I sent Hudson his way."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. It sounded like he'd have to pay Vance _another_ visit. He stood up, considering this conversation over. "Thank you for your time, Miss Reed."

"You're welcome," the woman replied; but Gibbs was already on his way, not bothering to look back.

* * *

Right… Give him Beowulf, and he'd be in heaven, translating away his favourite lays and analyzing them to his heart's content. Give him The Canterbury Tales, and he simply wouldn't put it down till he had reached the last verse. Hamlet? His favourite play. Moby Dick? Yes, please. When others would just groan at the sheer volume of the books, he'd just rub his hands with glee and snatch them out of the shelf.

However, those books were nothing compared to the folders currently in front of him. At least the books had a certain plot, a beginning, middle and end. The contents of the folders were chaotic, to put it mildly, and trying to find a thread to pick up and make a sense out of them was just headache-inducing.

Then again, maybe the folders weren't the only reason behind his current headache. Nathan looked at his watch, and he sighed inwardly. Normally, he'd be back home by now and perhaps manage to grab forty winks after hardly being able to sleep at least one the night before. By all means he had every right to go, since his eight hours of training were over for today. He didn't really have the heart to leave, though. He couldn't just get up and say to McGee, 'Hey, I'm going home, but you can keep up the good work'. Besides, he had been warned that NCIS didn't have a steady timetable and working overtime would be inevitable. He knew what he was getting himself into when he had finally decided to apply for the job. Hell, he was glad he _had_ a job under the circumstances.

"Hudson?"

Nathan's train of thought stopped with a screech and he looked at McGee, blinking. "Yes?"

The blond man regarded him curiously, almost… concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Nathan replied at once. "Why wouldn't I be?" he added, plastering a smile. The last thing he needed to deal with now was questions.

McGee frowned, just slightly. "You kinda zoned-out there."

"Oh, sorry!" _Chuckle a bit, wave your hand dismissively… This is one of the things you talk about and laugh… _"Just thinking over the things I have to do when I get back home."

To Hudson's surprise, his answer didn't seem enough for McGee, if his staring were any indication. Why? What more could he possibly want to know? Unless he was annoyed and concerned that his zoning out would hinder their job, but McGee hadn't struck him as that kind of a person. He seemed… nice, like that.

_Idiot…_ There he was, letting his thoughts run away with him again. Why couldn't he concentrate? He was doing so well these past two weeks and now…

The lack of sleep. It had to be. He cleared his throat, giving himself a couple of mental slaps to snap himself out of it and he smiled at McGee.

"We should continue. Boss might come over and he'll want to know if we've found anything."

McGee seemed to hesitate for a few minutes, only to finally nod and pick up the folder in front of him once more. Thankful that the matter had been settled for now, Nathan resumed reading, even if Lois didn't have much to say in his reports; there didn't seem to be anything that they could use in their research. At least, that's what Nathan had thought at first, before catching sight of something that was certainly news to him. He read the line again, making sure that he wasn't making a mistake, and then he rapped on the desk to get McGee's attention.

"Andrews used to be engaged."

McGee looked up, intrigued. "To who?"

"A certain Miriam Smith. Not sure how much help it will be, but here you go," Nathan said, already walking up to him and handing the file.

McGee frowned gently, regarding the file for several moments with pursed lips. "Could be enough," he finally declared, and he started typing on his computer. "Thanks."

"No problem. Part of our job, right?" Nathan replied, smiling.

McGee simply nodded in an absentminded manner, already focused on his computer; so Nathan supposed he should return to his digging through the paraphernalia in the box. Just when he had sat down, however, he noticed DiNozzo and David walking in, their faces rather grim.

"…Should I ask?" he said, regarding them closely.

"Not unless you want to know that we didn't find zit," David replied, settling down at her desk with a gentle huff.

Nathan bit back his urge to correct her; but, naturally, DiNozzo wasn't that diplomatic.

"It's zilch." DiNozzo said. "And do you want to know, probie?"

"Technically, I know now," Nathan pointed out.

"Bright boy," DiNozzo said with a smirk.

Nathan bit back his own jab. "Anyway, fortunately for you, McGee and I uncovered plenty of stuff," he said instead, nodding in the direction of the box. "Sorting it out, however, is a different matter entirely."

DiNozzo winced at the sight of the large box on the floor. "Oh, this should be fun."

"Not as fun as when we reach the bottom of the box and again find nothing," Ziva deadpanned.

"If it's any consolation, we found that Andrews was engaged to a Miriam Smith back then," Nathan replied.

"You did?" DiNozzo said, sounding surprised.

McGee nodded. Though focused on the computer, he seemed able to pick up the others' conversation. "I've found the announcement of their engagement in a newspaper back in the 70's, but nothing after that. It's as if she vanished."

"Could she have moved away?" Nathan asked.

"Or got married. Try to find wedding announcements," Ziva said.

McGee sighed softly. "This will be trickier."

"For a whiz kid like you, McGoogle?" DiNozzo said, raising an eyebrow of disbelief.

"We're talking about dozens of Miriam's Smiths, if not hundreds, and I'll have to look through wedding announcements in a time span of no less than thirty years," McGee pointed out.

Ziva pursed her lips in thought. "Tony and I will help."

DiNozzo regarded Nathan with a wry look. "And that, probie, is Ziva's idea of recruiting volunteers."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You've got a date, Tony?"

"I could have had one."

"That is as good as 'No'," she replied.

"True, but what would you have done if I had said 'Yes'?"

"I'd have said, 'Cancel it'."

"You don't cancel dates just like that; it's rude."

"You would have cancelled if Gibbs told you to."

"He's our Boss!"

"Don't you think he would have told you to cancel if he were here?"

This ping-pong of arguments pierced through Nathan's skull with the power of a dentist's drill, making him wish he could just hit his head on the surface of his desk with so much force that he'd knock himself out. Instead, he decided to be patient about it; this madness would have to stop eventually. But when he realised that neither David nor DiNozzo planned to let go, stubborn as they both were, he went for the next best solution: he raised his hand to get their attention.

"Bottom line is: we're all going to pull an all-nighter, so might I suggest some coffee for all of us? On me?"

The three teammembers stared at each other for a few brief moments, visibly contemplating on the suggestion.

"Coffee sounds good," DiNozzo finally said.

"Yeah, same here," Ziva admitted.

"Likewise," McGee said.

"Okay, then. Hit me with the order and I'll be right back," Nathan declared, taking out his notepad as he stood up. A soft series of laughter made him look up, and he was surprised to see that DiNozzo was actually chuckling. "What?"

"You looked really professional, whipping out your notepad and pen like that, probie," DiNozzo said, still regarding him in an amused manner.

Oh, right. "Worked as a server for three years. Some habits just stick, I guess."

"When was that?" Ziva asked then.

"College, actually." Nathan said, deciding to indulge his fellow teammembers' curiosity on this at least. "Now how about that coffee?"

That seemed to land the three of them to the task at hand, as they started placing their order. Even as Nathan jotted everything down, though, he couldn't help but think if the way the ordered coffee was any indication of their personalities. DiNozzo seemed attracted to things full of flavour, whether in the job or in romance - something that you could find in Brazilian blends as well. McGee's never-out-of-style cappuccino showed a man who was comfortable with classic, simple things… well, except when it came to computers, really. And it seemed logical that Ziva would ask for a Mocha; the strong taste of eastern coffee beans, mixed with the sweetness of the syrup, seemed to echo her own strong personality, mixed with the softness of her features.

"Right," he said once he had made sure that he had written down everything, and then he turned on his heel, heading for the elevator. "Be back in a jiffy."

He never noticed the curious, almost thoughtful look that the other three members of the team gave him as he walked out.

* * *

"Was it something you and I said?" Tony commented, looking at Ziva.

His insincere tone must have been quite audible, because the woman looked back at him with a deep frown, unsure what to make of that statement. That is, until realisation caught up with her and her features hardened. "You strung me along."

"Yup," Tony said, without the least bit of remorse. He had his reasons for doing that, after all.

"And what exactly did you gain from it?" she demanded.

"A look on how he'd react," he said with a shrug. "Boss would have Gibbs-slapped us and McGee would just watch as if he was looking at a train-wreck. And, if it had happened to you, you'd just put an end to things with a deadpan snark."

"Whereas you would play along," Ziva said thoughtfully.

"Bingo. But what does he do?"

"He suggested coffee," the woman said.

"Nothing strange here. We _are _going to pull an all-nighter," McGee pointed out.

"Ah, McGee, for someone who makes computers dance for him, you have _a lot _to learn about people," Tony said, sighing melodramatically. Surely, what had just happened should have been most telling.

"Just because he made a nice gesture?" McGee said, confused.

"Because he diffused the tension and then got the hell out of Dodge," Tony said. "Seriously, why does a marine, who's been in the front lines for the last eight years fighting Taliban, doesn't take a chance to grab the bull by the horns even if it's presented to him?"

"Uh… maybe because we're not Taliban?" McGee pointed out. "And maybe he wants to be good at his job and not start fighting with the people that he's supposed to work with?"

Tony wanted to say that there was a difference between being cooperative and holding back, and Hudson was certainly doing the latter in the last two weeks he'd been working with them, but he never got the chance. He caught sight of the elevator doors opening and a very angry-looking Gibbs walking out, heading straight to the Director's office.

"Oh, this is going to be bad…" he said with a wince.

Ziva and McGee could only nod at that, agreeing whole-heartedly.

* * *

Gibbs felt his very psyche aflame with rage as he marched inside the office without even bothering to knock on the door. Leon was at his office, busy on the phone apparently; but like hell he was going to wait for the bastard to finish.

"You lied to me."

Leon raised an eyebrow, regarding him closely. One 'I'll have to call you back' later, the director hung up and picked up a toothpick, his eyes never leaving Gibbs. "If I had lied, I would have said that I can't help you."

"You know more about Hudson than you're letting on!" Gibbs said. "You had me think that the Department of Veteran Affairs had placed him in NCIS, when it was you all along! So I'll ask you directly, and I want a straight answer for you once and for all. What's your interest in him?"

"I told you: he needs a firm hand like yours," Leon said calmly.

"Not an answer!"

Leon pursed his lips, the toothpick twitching for many long moments, and then, finally, he nodded in acceptance of his defeat.

"I'll have to recover a file. When I have it in my hands, I'll call you back here. Then, we can talk."

It was the last thing that Gibbs wanted to hear, and he was certain that that was probably Vance's way of buying more time and evade to answer. But, he also realised that he had no choice in the matter, so he nodded, albeit stiffly.

"We'll talk. Count on that," he promised, before turning on his heel.

"I know."

Gibbs didn't bother to reply to that. He simply walked out, not wishing to waste his breath.


End file.
